




IB 



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1 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 1 



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■SUNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ! 



LIFE MEMORIES; 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY 



EDWARD SPRAGUE RAND, Jr. 




BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE: 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY, 

M DCCC LTX. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 

EDWARD S. RAND, JR., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of AJassachus* its. 



"fit 



CAMBRIDGE: THURSTON AN T D TOSRY, PRfNTERS. 



i 



T O 



HON. GEORGE S. MILLARD, 



THESE VERSES OF LEISI'RE MOMENTS ARE RESPECTFULLY 



ZB cfe f c a t eto . 



PROLOGUE. 



He who from Nature's open book 

Her noblest lesson reads, 
Knows that on earth, as angels look, 

There are no flowers or weeds. 

Some blossoms flaunt in colors gay, 
Some wear a dress of green, 

Their duty done, they fade away 
Unnoticed or unseen. 

What if it fails our purblind sight 

Their glories to discern ! 
'Tis not — the beauty is less bright, 

But — we have more to learn. 

And he who seeks for Nature's store 

In valley, wood or field, 
Will find the more he culls,' the more 

The lavish seasons yield. 



PROLOaUE. 

So wandering o'er the field of life 
With glowing flowerets fraught, 

I pluck from boughs with blossoms rife 
The opening buds of thought. 

I weave no store of blossoms gay 

Of sunny tropic hours, 
But on fair Nature's altar lay 

A wreath of simple flowers. 

No choice exotics from afar 
Bloom in my garland twined, 

I bring anemone's fair star, 
The windflowers of the mind. 

If none may feel as I have felt, 
The pleasure or the pain — 

To Nature kneel as I have knelt, 
My wreath I twine in vain. 



Nov. 1858. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

Life Memories . 11 

The Death of Love 51 

The Old Elm 54 

The Diamonds 62 

Autumn . . ... . . . . . 64 

Self-Abasement 66 

The First Snow ......... 69 

The Angels 72 

The Grand-dame 75 

Cloud Tracings 78 

Sadness F0 

September . . 82 

The Shadow 85 

The Haunted House 89 

The Man in the Moon 94 

Snow 97 

Hope and Faith 98 

The Night 99 

The Summit 101 

The Heavens 102 

Mourning 103 

Nature 104 

Songs 106 

Shadows . . . , . . . . . . . 107 

Dead Blossoms 108 

Adoration .......'... 109 



CONTEXTS. 



The Contrast 
Thoughts . 
Alone . 



A Winter Scene 

Hopes 

God Drew the World 

How Grow ihe Leaves 

Heb. iv. 10 

Abide with Us . 

The House Across the Way 

The Sea .... 

When Skies are Bright 

Warnings .... 

Veronica 

The Present 

Noontide . 

October 

My Homes 

The Home of thy Rest 

To tee Witch Hazel 

The Departed 

I shall be Satisfied 

To the Night Blooming 

The Recording Angel 

Freedom's Dawn 

Flowers . 

Evening Hymn 

To C. A. R. on his Birth-Day 

Hymn 

Not of Myself 

The Picture 

Asleep in Jesus 

Sorrow .... 



Cereus , 



LIFE MEMORIES. 



" Would you touch the hearts of others. 
First your own must feel the glow." 

Schillek. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 



Musing in the fitful twilight, in the shadows of my 

room, 
Mellowed by the pearly beaming from the newly 

risen moon, 
Spirit forms seem flitting round me as the evening 

creeps along, 
And their weird-like whisper ringeth, like the words 

of distant song, 
"While the heart's ^Eolian harpstrings murmur with 

the plaintive lays, 
Which the breath of memory calleth from the lips 

- of by-gone days ; 
Till the spirit wanders backward in the steps of 

childhood hours, 
When the sky was one fair azure smiling o'er an 

earth of flowers. 



12 



LIFE MEMORIES. 



All was bright, the kindly warning, morn would 

quickly take her flight, 
Wrapping up her sunny splendor in the canopy of 

night, 
On the childhood's ear fell idle, as the evanescent 

shade 
Starts back from the polished metal wavy, trembling 

and afraid. 
O for childhood trusteth ever, as a brook it hurries 

free, 
Now in shade and now in sunshine, ever bursting 

merrily, 
While big tears befringe the eyelids, round the 

mouth the smile breaks through, 
Like the flowers at early morning, laughing in a 

bath of dew. 
Backward in the fields of memory, lone I wander 

sad and slow, 
Circled by the breath of blossoms dead and with- 
ered long ago, 
And the monotone of spirits soft and low. 

II. 

Thoughts and actions long forgotten buried in the 

past's debris, 
From the thickening darkness forming seerrr to 

beckon unto me ; 



LIFE MEMORIES. 13 

Rosy hopes and high aspirings point with fingers 

bare and lean 
To those sunny airy castles, youth's fair dream, the 

might have been. 
Golden moments gone forever wring their hands 

and hurry by 
Like the shadow of a cloudlet, or a dreamer's fan- 
tasy. 
And alas, with gloomy visage, opportunities for 

good, 
Unimproved and long neglected, rush upon me in a 

flood. 
Teeming from the sullen river, rushing back on 

Time's dull wave, 
Rise fair aims in ghostly garments, like the marble 

o'er a grave. 
Far within the dimmer distance the dilated vision 

sees 
Darkening forms in sable vestments, like dull groups 

of fire-killed trees 
Stretching out their blasted fingers, clutching stiffly 

at the air, 
Nought for shade, in silence telling gloomy legends 

of despair. 
Long the train of sin and evil, little faults before 

my eyes, 
Stripped of all their beauteous seeming, looming 

now in hideous guise ; 



14 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Nought were they, of little moment, in the morn- 
ing's reckless dream, 
O but on the evening vision with what baleful light 

they gleam ! 
And the mist of distance seemeth, as it makes them 

grow more dim, 
So to lend them fearful stature, giant size in face 

and limb. 
Is this all that memory bringeth? rouse and drive 

the past away, 
Barring out the gloomy phantoms, live we only for 

to-day ! 
Hark upon the darkness stealing gentle sounds of 

music creep, 
Like the zephyr's on the grasses when he sings the 

flowers to sleep, 
Yet so gentle, soft and plaintive, one would weep. 

III. 

What the light that glows around me, soft and 

lucent as the beam 
Which the raptured soul transfuses in some holy, 

happy dream ? 
When the spirit flees the body, when the bonJs of 

clay are riven, 
So the soul may spring exulting, bathing in its 

native heaven. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 15 

All around, above are floating blessed angels clothed 

in white, 
Starry gleams of dazzling splendor, pure effulgences 

of light, 
Each upon the forehead bearing memory of some 

generous deed 
Prompted by some noble impulse, done with scarce 

awakened heed, 
Yet 'twas treasured by an angel as a gem of purest 

ray, 
Jewel on the heavenly record shining for eternal 

day. 
Kindly words from memory's garner careless drop- 
ped nor sought again, 
Yet they filled some gleaner's apron, robbing grief 

of half its pain ; 
Cheerful smiles we recked but little, yet they helped 

a weary one 
Bravely to bear up life's burden, undiscouraged 

pressing on ; 
Thence the glory beaming o'er me, thence the swell 

of holy song, 
Which through heaven's eternal arches still unend- 
ing sweeps along. 
Angels nearer wave your pinions to the swelling of 

the strain, 
O the bliss to sink in slumber, sleep and never wake 

_again ! 



16 LIFE MEMORIES. 

From this ecstasy of pleasure let the spirit drink its 
fill, 

Nought disturbing, nought intruding, dead the pas- 
sions, drowned the will, 

Conscious of existence only, peaceful, still. 

IV. 

Darkness all again around me save upon the check- 
ered floor, 
Where the moonbeams risen higher, silver floods of 

radiance pour. 
Raising me from my reclining, out upon the world 

I gaze 
On the trees in snowy vesture, on the city's beaten 

ways. 
Everywhere the moonbeams whiten, mellowing e'en 

the shadows down, 
As a sunbeam gilds a cloudlet, as a smile breaks 

o'er a frown, 
Touching all the trees' bare fingers, — silvering the 

church's spire, 
Till the vane and silent letters seem white points of 

argent fire. 
Pearly snow and silver moonbeam! how the soft 

effulgence laves 
E'en the marble ghostlike breaking from the silent 

sea of graves, 



EIEE MEMORIES. 1/ 

While the grass in icy shrouding to the wind's cold 

breathing waves, 
Sounding with a solemn music, ringing winter's 

dreary staves. 
Not a voice, or stealing footfall crunching on the 

icy snow, 
And the vision seems to wander down the streets 

of long ago, 
Thro' some old enchanted city, where some Circe's 

magic spell 
Fossilized the sensient myriads by a draught of 

oenomel, 
Or shook poppies, till a slumber death-like on the 

eyelids fell. 
Silence o'er the sleeping city, — silence o'er the 

churchyard drear, 
Quietly the dead and living seem to verge together 

here ; — 
Here, the heart is beating ardent, dreams of future 

joy — of bliss ; 
There, its pulsings rest forever — why not seek a 

peace like this ? 
Rest eternal! storm or sunshine waken not the 

sleepers there, 
Summer with her balmy breathings, Winter with 

his freezing air, 
Spring may scatter violets o'er them, loving hands 

bedeck with flowers, 



18 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Will the cold earth give a token, smiling lips re- 
spond to ours ? 

If we call them will they answer ? though in bitter- 
ness we weep, 

Will the salt tears trickling to them waken their 
eternal sleep ? 

Pour out all the stores of loving, utter every fond- 
est tone, 

Where the answer? Death and silence sway a 
sceptre here alone. 

Quiet, peace, or only seeming ? O how oft a face 
of glee 

Wreathes a spirit almost breaking with its weight 
of agony! 

Some things brighter seem in dying, fairer growing 
in decay, 

Seem to catch unearthly lustre, shining but to pass 
away. 

Peace, vain spirit, whence thy knowledge of the 
mystery of death ? 

Outward quiet may give token of a seething hell 
beneath. 

Rouse! the nicer sense of hearing gradually wanes 
away, 

When the ear in noisy tumult turns itself from 
day to day ; 

So amid thy sad complaining, murmurings at seem- 
ing wrong, 



LIFE MEMORIES. 19 

Thou may'st lose angelic music, miss some strain 

of holy song ; 
Gazing upward trust in heaven, good or evil, — 

come what will, 
Using blessings still remember, nought is altogether 

ill. 



Nothing ill, no all is blessing, what the future, what 

the past? 
'Tis the present we are living, in the now our lot is 

cast; — 
Swell the love song, fill the wine cup, drain it dry 

and fill again, 
Death is but annihilation ; — soberness our only 

pain, — 
Fill your glasses, — here's confusion to the sober 

prating crew 
Who exhort to live forever with eternity in view. 
In the present we are living, for the present let us 

live, 
What the paradise of pleasure to the heaven wine 

can give ? 
Closer draw around the table, fill each to his lady 

fair, 
Mistress or betrothed or sweetheart, drain the glass ; 

we little care, 



20 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Kiss her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, drink in bliss 

while yet you may, 
For remember in the future worms will kiss the 

same some day. 
Start not! death's annihilation, wherefore shrink 

back from the tomb, 
After life all spent in pleasure, is it hardship death 

should come? 
If there were eternal burnings, wherefore tremble, 

what thy care ? 
Will not all earth's great and noble meet at last 

together there ? 
Fill the wine cup in the present, drink and dare. 

VI. 

Madness ! yet no fancy dreaming, what one hears 

and sees full oft, 
Death, eternity, derided, — morals and religion 

scoffed ! 
Higher now the moon has risen 'companied by one 

bright star, 
As a lover fond and ardent seeks his loved one's 

bower afar ; 
Nearer now they grow together, till he sinks in hei 

embrace, 
And his light is lost and melted in the brightness 

of her face. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 21 

Once again the lips of Memory whisper to the 
spirit's ear, 

Once again her magic mirror bringeth by-gone mo- 
ments near, 

Slowly floats her plaintive tuning, dirge-like as a 
funeral strain, 

Then, as if in exultation pealing up to heaven 
again ; 

Varied is the heart's deep music by the hand that 
sweeps the strings, 

Many are the spirit's measures, thousand-toned the 
notes it sings ; 

Gladness with her blithesome touches draws from 
thence as gay a song 

As the vernal robin's carol, echoing the woods 
along ; 

While pale Grief with careless fingers calls to birth 
as sad a wail 

As the withered leaflets whisper to the cold No- 
vember gale ; 

Breathing notes of things departed, subjects of the 
grave's dark reign, 

Friends and flowers which died together nevermore 
to bloom again. 

Nevermore! O vain delusion, once inspired we never 
die, 

But our round of life rolls onward, on to all eter- 
nity ! 



22 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Different thoughts, and various natures, strange 

diversities of aim, 
Yet the once divine inflatus is and will be still the 

same. 
How? we know not, — yet the promptings swelling 

upward in the soul, 
Seem at times to rise impatient of the body's base 

control ; 
Who has not at purer moments known a burning 

rich desire 
To shake off some unseen fetters, mounting up- 
ward to aspire ? 
Seen some spirit-finger pointing upward from the 

base and low, 
Heard some angel whisper telling, " We are wiser 

than we know?" 
O we wrong our better natures living on for earthly 

gains, 
On the anvil of existence ever hammering golden 

chains ; 
Feeding the insatiate furnace where we melt our 

shining ore, 
With our spirit's heavenly longings, with our na- 
ture's vital store, 
And the flame licks out our bosoms, leaving them 

as dry and lean 
As the shrivelled water-courses where Sahara's 

breath has been. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 23 

We would weigh each noble passion with its weight 

in sordid gold, 
As if aims of heavenly being could be bartered, 

bought and sold, 
As if heaven's enumeration could in mortal coin 

be told ! 
I have wandered; — Memory's music echoed in a 

simple strain, 
Time looked back on scattered roses, man became 

a child again. 
Then in life's ecstatic morning every blossom of the 

field 
Seemed to smile on me responsive, golden stores 

of treasure yield. 
Happy birthday of existence, April morn of sun 

and showers ; 
O how bright had been my being had I only 

plucked the flowers, 
Many more its happy moments, fewer far its bitter 

hours ! 
Morn to night, and night to morning, ever smiling 

looked on me, 
Every year was freighted heavy with a childhood's 

gayety. 

Then a sickness, life's weak taper flickered in the 

chilly breath, 
Wafted from the sullen closing of the ponderous 

gates of death ; 



24 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Closing on the sable angel bearing with him to the 

gloom, 
A fair morning glory blossom withered ere the heat 

of noon. 
Yet by holy intuition every sorrowing spirit knew 
'Twas a blossom but transplanted, only faded from 

our view. 
Life was flickering, yet the taper burned again with 

steady light; 
Life was young and youth was ardent, thirsting 

for some new delight, 
So the boy in wandering onward never dreamed of 

night. 

VII. 

O how lightly Time's swift pinion touches on some 
years of life, 

How the weeks and months flit onward, every mo- 
ment pleasure rife ; 

As to boyhood each to-morrow, seemingly so far 
away, 

Merges yesterday's existence in the pleasures of to- 
day. 

Pause, O Memory, bring before me those bright 
imagings of fame, 

Those that filled each waking moment, and in 
dreamy visions came. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 25 

Airy castles, youthful dreaming what might be, yet 

ne'er has been, 
Rainbow-tinted landscapes painted on the future's 

heavy screen ; 
Which some power in wisdom holdeth, lest our 

mortal eye should see 
Present happiness embittered by some coming mis- 
ery. 
Onward as in life we wander, faint more dim those 

visions seem, 
Years, like harsh and jarring discords, dissipate the 

pleasing dream. 
Even Memory's magic touches fail to paint a scene 

as fair, 
Boyhood is the master-builder to rear castles in the 

air. 
Let it build its pleasing fancies, see its eidolon of 

Soon, too soon, the world's conscription sounds its 
war-blast for the boy ; 

Soon reality impresses fancy in her stern employ ! 

Who can sound to others' hearing notes which on 
the boy's rapt ear 

Fell as spirit-music floating down from some ethe- 
real sphere ? 

We can know, yet ne'er may tune them ; treasure 
them within the breast, 



26 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Mortal tongue may never utter, 'tis the spirit's sweet 

behest, 
Heavenly nurture for the spirit by the angels blest. 

VIII. 

To recall the boyhood's dreaming all in vain would 
Memory try, 

'Tis like conjuring up to being sounds of elfish 
revelry, 

Gorgeous yet ephemeral flowerets ere the sunset 
die. 

Yet as in some changing tableau bright and brighter 
scenes appear, 

So in life the picture brightens, opening wider year 
by year : 

Now as boyhood gently riseth into manhood's no- 
bler day, 

Other powers exert dominion, unknown spirits em- 
pire sway. 

O that ecstasy of feeling, burning pleasure of the 
soul, 

When young love usurps our being, bends each 
will to his control ! 

Every sweet note of existence blends upon his 
magic lyre, 

Vein and artery seem swelling with a stream of 
liquid fire. 



EIFE MEMORIES. 27 

Far above our lower being moves the lover on in 

pride, 
Thinking, heeding nought, nor seeing save the loved 

one at his side. 
Some supernal power has woven round his path a 

web so fine, 
That it fails our grosser vision gazing on the veil 

divine ; 
While the spirit's rising feelings form an atmos- 
phere so rare, 
Others dare not, may not breathe it, living in a 

denser air. 
In this inner realm he reigneth, careless of the world 

around, 
Basking in a sun of pleasure, w T ith eternal wreath- 

ings crowned. 
O that love could last forever ! yet, alas, it may not 

be ; 
It would wing the hours of sorrow — give too much 

of gayety, 
To a pathway God in mercy planted round with 

thorn and brier, 
Lest if all the way were flowery, earth-born, we 

might never tire 
Plucking earthly silken blossoms, mindless of 

another sphere, 
Burying our holier promptings with. the fkwerets 

gathered here. 



28 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Youthful love must fade and lessen, yet is never 
wholly lost, 

Like the promised bow it gleameth to the weary 
tempest-tossed ; 

When the sea of life is troubled, when the waves 
of passion roll, 

Bright portrayed upon the blackness in the heaven 
of the soul, 

Calls to mind the hours it brightened in the morn- 
ing past away, 

Then points upward to a heaven glowing in its 
sunny ray, 

Spirit realm, the blest forever, sweet eternal day. 

IX. 

When the boyhood's wondering vision viewed the 

mystery of death, 
Fear held wide the straining eyelids, clutching, kept 

the trembling breath, 
Dread, a vague and formless terror big with thoughts 

of personal ill, 
Weighed upon the whole existence, bade each 

rising thought " be still," 
Till the tear-drops like a torrent rain engendered 

downward swept, 
Who shall search the inner nature, who shall tell 

us why we wept ? 



LIFE MEMOBIES. 29 

Then the long and dreary watches in the silence of 
the night, 

When awake we lie awaiting the slow coming of 
the light ; 

How the forms of the departed rise upon the boy- 
hood's sight, 

Closed eyes and pallid features, clothed in shrouds 
of snowy white : 

Just as last he saw them lying ere the coffin lid 
shut o'er, 

Ere they passed from mortal vision, vanishing for- 
evermore. 

How he crowds his clasping fingers close upon his 
shrinking eyes, 

Lest from shrouded forms around him living shapes 
of fear arise, 

Lying trembling, lest each moment he may feel upon 
his head 

The cold touch of icy fingers, or chill breathings of 
the dead. 

These the scenes that flit around him till the morn- 
ing breaketh near, 

So the child's idea of dying rests a ghostly name- 
less fear. 

But in youth maturer learnings swell exuberance of 
thought, 

Each idea is huge with meaning, every thinking 
treasure fraught. 



30 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Death, a strange and fearful changing, when the 

general law of clay, 
Victor like, asserts its mastery, calls the body to 

decay, 
Drags that form which walked triumphant back to 

seek its kindred sod, 
Sends the soul on some long journey to find out 

some unknown God. 
This enough, — no more it seeketh, — pleasure holds 

some sunny prize, 
Is it wonder youth speeds onward with enchanted 

eyes ? 

X. 

How the east wind's icy blowing chills the early 

summer hours, 
Bearer of the ocean's message to the shrinking, 

trembling flowers ; 
So affliction o'er the spirit spreads an all-pervading 

gloom, 
When the heart's bright flowers are blasted in the 

east wind of the tomb. 
Then gay youth, so glad and buoyant, crushed in 

spirit sinks to earth ; 
In bereavement's bitter moments how we lose the 

hours of mirth. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 31 

Once again before my vision. Memory hold thy 

magic glass, 
Yet once more by conjuration let long by-gone days 

repass. 
Sadness veils a May-day morning, born in smiles, 

yet set in tears, 
Darker still that morn appeareth, gazed at through 

the mist of years. 
Heartstrings then were swept so rudely, dirge-like 

requiems ever roll 
Through the long aisles winding onward, whispering 

galleries of the soul. 
Let whate'er of golden fruitage gild the noontide 

of my day, 
Memory of the bitter morning nevermore may pass 

away. 
See in Memory's magic mirror hand in hand two 

children stray, 
Wandering in a flowery meadow, roving on in care- 
less play; 
One, a boy, whose eye dark flashing, tender ever, 

gazed in pride 
On the gentle form, the sister, playing trusting by 

his side ; 
Like were they in gaze and bearing, nurtured by 

one mother's care, 
Lulled to slumber by one singing, taught to breathe 

the selfsame prayer ; 



32 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Yet unlike, for on her forehead, radiant wreathing 

one might trace, 
Twinings of the heavenly chaplet holy spirits ever 

place 
On the brow of those whom heaven destines for a 

higher sphere ; 
Blessed ones, who sent to cheer us, only spend their 

morning here. 
On his brow a darker wreathing, bearing duties to 

be done, 
Fears to conquer, doubts to vanquish, evil aims to 

be o'erthrown ; 
Yet through all the maze of evil ever run a golden 

line, 
Talisman of heavenly twining, augury of love 

divine, 
Telling e'en though often erring, sin and doabt at 

last should cease, 
Life's tempestuous billows wafting heavenward to 

endless peace. 
As the summer days flow onward, brighter grows 

her holy crown, 
Nearer flit the shining angels, kindred spirits seek 

their own ; 
Yet the boy in plucking flowerets bended down- 
ward to the ground, 
Is it strange he missed the omens, heavenly mercy 

spread around ? 



LIFE MEMORIES. 33 

When the blossoms' bells were ringing silver mys- 
teries profound, 

Wonder that the ear was heavy to the angels' high- 
er sound ? 

Fairer, paler grew her beauty as the evening called 
each day, 

Like the morning wind-flower, lovely, ere the night 
to pass away ; 

Yet love cast a heavy shadow veiling from our 
mortal eyes, 

How her pathway was diverging, tending upward 
to the skies ; 

Till at last, one May-day morning, as we gaily wan- 
dered on, 

In a winding way we missed her, turned and found 
the idol gone, 

O, the aloes of affliction, bitterness to rove alone! 
• ••••••• • 

Gone the floweret, gone the jewel, yet the casket 
still was left, 

Yet it only told the spirit how its lovings were be- 
reft! 

So with gentle hands we gave it into earth's protect- 
ing care, 

Placed it where the grass was greenest, where the 
flowers were nodding fair ; 

Fond affection wept and blessed it, then we turning 
left it there. 



34 LITE MEMORIES. 

Breathing soft from all around us rose a soul-assur- 
ing strain, 
Some kind angel's unseen fingers poured a chrism 

o'er our pain, 
Told that in the far horizon we should find the lost 

again. 
Now we cheerful wander forward, gazing to those 

distant heights, 
Whence a heavenly ray seems breaking on the 

darkness of our nights ; 
Knowing there in full effulgence beckoning the 

angels stand, 
Feeling she is gazing on us, bright among the spirit 

band, 
Waits to welcome us to heaven with an outstretched 

hand. 



XL 

Rest thee, sister, o'er thy pillow let the earliest blos- 
soms spring ; 

Let the waving of the leaflets to the trees thy 
requiem sing! 

May the brightest insects hover sporting o'er thy 
place of rest, 

Let its oak trees cast the shadow which the violet 
loves the best. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 35 

Dewdrops, swell to larger gemming in the mosses' 

scarlet cup, 
Trees, spread thick your leafy umbrage lest the 

sunshine suck them up, 
Let them rest a pearly nectar, for the wandering 

zephyr's wing, 
Or to float the blue-bird's singing, earliest warbler 

of the spring. 
May hepatica's blue flowerets, nodding from their 

leafy bed, 
Breathe the beauty of the sleeper to the leaf buds 

overhead ; 
Then let violets catch the chorus, and the song go 

echoing on, 
Where anemone's pale starrings bend above some 

mossy stone, 
And as Summer weaves her mantle flower-bespan- 
gled, living green, 
Let gerardia's transient blossoms, o'er her bosom 

weeping lean ; 
When stern Autumn sways his sceptre, let the 

feathery asters nod, 
Singing dirges where she sleepeth to the tremulous 

golden rod ! 
Then, when Winter casts a garment snowy from his 

icy arm, 
Gently fall, O pearly snowflakes, keep our sister's 

grave from harm. 



36 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Rest thee, sister, whatsoever care or woe our lot 

may be, 
We may gaze above exulting every grief is spared 

to thee ; 
Thorns and brambles, pain and sorrow, on our path 

of life increase, 
But thy spirit resteth ever, blest in everlasting 

peace. 
Yet whate'er our bitter moments, blue-eyed Hope 

our constant guest, 
Whispers of thy home so glorious, in the mansions 

of the blest. 
Symphonies of heavenly music breathe of thee, our 

loved, our own, 
In the swelling of the windharp oft we seem to 

catch thy tone, 
Howsoe'er bereft, the spirit lives not all alone. 

XII. 

To some natures, grief and 'sorrow are but episodes 

of pain, 
All elastic, like the willow, they spring back to joy 

again ; 
Others, like a spreading chestnut, rearing proud its 

head on high, 
May not bend, and sorrow's whirlwind tears them 

from the ground to die 



LIFE MEMORIES. O/ 

Youth is like the gentle osier, bowing down to every 
breeze, 

Manhood, like the stern Castinea, empress of the 
woodland trees. 

Years fled on, as youth was entering into manhood's 
rising way, 

Sickness held the longed-for portal, bade the hurry- 
ing footsteps stay. 

O intensity of suffering, struggling for the vital 
breath, 

Combat stern between two angels, guardian powers 
of life and death ! 

O the fierceness of the conflict, which should con- 
quer, which should yield, 

Utter agony of paining, this w 7 eak frame the battle- 
field ! 

Day by day life's ebbing streamlet sunk within its 
dried-up bed, 

Hour by hour the sable angel ope'd the portals of 
the dead! 

Such the suffering of body, that a lethargy of 
soul 

Seemed upon the past and future dark oblivion's 
shade to roll ; 

Anything to ease the paining, death or life, what- 
e'er it be, 

Differed little, gave it freedom from the awful ag- 



ony! 



38 LIFE MEMORIES. 

What might be beyond death's river gave the spirit 

little fear, 
Could eternal pains burn deeper than the tortures 

suffered here? 
Yet from out the soul's dark ocean, memory of two 

forms would rise, 
One a mortal almost worshipped, one an angel in 

the skies. 
Thoughts rose on the spirit's billows how bereaved 

and left alone, 
She would wander sad and lonely when the kindred 

soul had flown ; 
Then the airy fancy pictured how a sister's smile 

would greet, 
"What the region, the surroundings, where the part- 
ed souls should meet, 
Then a calm indifference brooded sad and deep. 

XIII. 

O that glorious summer morning, swelling pseans 

ringing high, 
Nature's myriad voices blending in one tuneful 

symphony ! 
On the very verge of dying, quivering nature gave 

the ear, 
Some supernal power, acuteness, every low drawn 

breath to hear, 



LIFE MEMORIES. 39 

Then it caught the smothered whispers, telling ere 

the close of day 
The long contest would be ended, every doubt be 

rolled away, 
Life prevail, or the worn spirit leave a pallid form 

of clay ! 
Worn-out Nature's feeble music sounded faintly in 

the strife, 
Then first breathing dread of dying, — clinging 

fondly unto life ; 
As the balmy cooling zephyr caught the perfume 

of the flowers, 
The dull senses felt the beauty of this radiant world 

of ours. 
How the moments seemed to hasten, each one 

clinging to the past, 
Little muffled bells were knelling, one, one nearer 

to the last ! 
Chiming to the heart's quick beatings, — pulsing O 

so fast. 
Morning, noon, as dusky evening cast her shadows 

o'er the plain, 
Life blew back the damps of dying, caught her 

quivering wand again ; 
Yet so nearly had the sceptre lost its potent magic 

power, 
Servient spirits came but slowly, lingered tardy 

hour by hour ; 



40 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Yet as evening grew to morning, as the morning 

called the eve, 
Busy hands in secret working seemed the web of 

life to weave; 
As the body slowly quickening, mental faculties 

called out, 
'Scaping from the chains of sickness, they went 

ranging all about, 
Bringing back such stores of knowledge to the over- 
burdened brain, 
Oft they thought life's lamp was flickering, death's 

reprieving all in vain. 
'Twas but transient, soon the spirit comprehended 

in its ken 
Every thought, and searched all curious, musing 

what the past had been, 
Glad, exulting, turning boldly in the common paths 

of men. 

XIV. 

Boy religion, 'tis a feeling soulward wafted from 

afar, 
Of mysterious unknown beings, wiser, greater than 

we are, 
Calling longings from the spirit as the south wind 

calleth flowers, 
Consciousness of unseen angels flitting o'er this 

world of ours. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 41 

Vague and undefined believing, yearning for some 

good, unsought, 
In the soul's deep niches treasured, far beyond the 

light of thought. 
By this inner impulse prompted, high aspirings up- 
ward rise, v 
As the crocus openeth sunward, smiling from its 

dewy eyes ; 
And the spirit joins the psean, endless praise which 

never dies, 
Swelling up from Nature's bosom, chorus of exist- 
ences. 
Nature praiseth her Creator, various the voice and 

tone, 
Every leaflet, every flower bud, swells an anthem 

of its own ; 
Could our ears but catch the music, hear the lofty 

trees around, 
Like the pipes of mighty organs, raise a melody of 

sound ; 
Vain ! the spirit's voice too early blends no more 

in Nature's praise, 
Far too soon it grows discordant, makes a jarring 

in her lays. 
Old and pleasing runs the legend that o'ershadow- 

ing Orpheus' grave, 
Bay and myrtle intertwining shining wreaths of 

leaflets wave. 
3 



42 



LIFE MEMORIES. 



There the closer Philomela builds among the sacred 
trees, 

So the sweeter floats her singing, borne upon the 
evening breeze. 

Thus the more the soul retaineth of the purity of 
youth, 

Freer float the songs of gladness, fewer fall the 
tears of ruth. 

Spirits clinging unto Nature rise above the laws 
of time, 

Read the mysteries of creation chronicled in books 
sublime, 

Learn to know that every creature, e'en though low 
its station be, 

Brings a lesson for their reading, teaching for eter- 
nity. 

Beauty here is but foreshadowing of the glories we 
shall see, 

When the touch of death shall open present to 
futurity. 

Yet how myriad souls plod onward, stifling each 
holy fire, 

Even love's enkindling embers deadening with ac- 
cursed desire, 

Checking every holy prompting, trampling the blos- 
soms down 

Which by tears and praying nourished, might be 
wreathed a heavenly crown ; 



LIFE MEMORIES. 43 

Spirit blossoms which expanded breathe a prayer- 
ful incense up, 

Till the bright peace angels hovering, nestle in each 
flowery cup ; 

Bid the stormy winds of passion lull them into 
perfect peace, 

As stern billows sink recumbent, when the tempest 
chafings cease. 

Check thou not the boy's religion, though the 
branch may ramble w T ild, 

Nurture it with prayer and watching, 'tis the talis- 
man of the child, 

Charm against the myriad evils which the path of 
life may show, 

Glass reflecting lurking vipers where the flowers of 
pleasure glow, 

Finger pointing onward, upward through the mists 
that cloud our way, 

To where God's eternal sunlight drowns all doubt 
in perfect day, 

Where our hopings find fruition, bliss is lost in 
ecstasy. 

xv. 

What a pregnant hour for boyhood when it launches 

forth in life ! 
Youth is past, and manhood opening, eager to begin 

the strife ; 



44 LIFE MEMORIES. 

Goal of young ambition's longings thence the 

chariot race to run, 
O how smooth the course appeareth, brightly shines 

the unclouded sun. 
Eagle-eyed the boy looks forward ; why should 

obstacles impede ? 
Has he not the power to conquer, wherefore should 

he not succeed ? 
O, alas, how slight his knowledge of the barriers 

that arise, 
What the dangers to be compassed ere he gain the 

wished -for prize ! 
Youthful trials have failed to teach him, in this 

troublous world of ours, 
Dregs are in the sweetest nectar, thorns upon the 

fairest flowers. 
What the need to look to others ; has he not the 

will to do? 
Hope is whispering of the future, holding some 

mirage in view. 
Some fair prospect, bright illusion, leading on and 

ever on, 
O how soon the straining vision only looks to find 

it gone ! 
Why should he in manhood's springtide heed that 

many souls have failed. 
So much more for him to conquer in a fight where 

others quailed ! 



LIFE MEMORIES. 



45 



Little recks he how their envy spreads a net about 
his feet, 

That their hidden arts are working, crafty for his 
own defeat. 

Vain advice and useless warning, if he win, he 
gains a name, 

One to echo ever onward through the clarion of 
fame ; 

If he fail, he sinks forgotten like an airy morning 
dream, 

Worn, defeated, he falls backward, gasping in 
Time's inky stream, 

Where some darkened wave breaks o'er him, blot- 
ting his existence out, 

As a tiny boat is swallowed in a swelling water- 
spout. 

Thus the life of many passes like a will-o-wisp at 
night, 

Flitting o'er Time's oozy marshes, shining for a 
moment bright, 

Then dispersed, an empty vapor, vanishing from 
sight. 

XVI. 

Over Memory's magic mirror figures wander now 

no more, 
Past within the present merging joins the now to 

days of yore. 



46 LIFE MEMORIES. 

As the snail upon the window prompts a low mys- 
terious sound, 
Wondering we start from slumber, gazing wildly 

all around, 
Yet see nothing save the moonbeams and the 

shadows of the trees, 
Shimmering upon the carpet to the fitful evening 

breeze ; 
Then as creeping back to slumber thoughts of w r eird 

unearthly things, 
Wondering fancy to the spirit in a brimming chalice 

brings ; 
Sleep or wake, our nature feedeth on a strange mys- 
terious food, 
Of the wonderful that might be, of the things not 

understood. 
So when o'er the glass of Memory acts and 

thoughts long vanished glide, 
A shrill music wakes the spirit from the rest of 

eventide ; 
Then the past usurps the present, and the moan of 

wasted days 
Floats upon the spirit's slumber like the bittern's 

wailing lays, 
Telling tales of crumbling ruins, temples half en- 

gulphed in sand, 
All o'ergrown with weeds and brambles, scattered 

with youth's lavish hand. 



LIFE MEMORIES. 47 

In those silent midnight moments, pale Repentance 

at the door, 
Tells those ruins may be builded, the wild gardens 

bloom once more ; 
But the soul to slumber turneth, leaves the past with 

all its wrecks, 
Dreams of sunny future landscapes which no cloud 

of sorrow flecks, 
And awaking to the present some new flowery 

altar decks. 
All is written — life's experience bound in scanty 

chains of rhyme, 
Bells that rung at sunrise gaily, now in golden 

evening chime, 
Now in silence rests the spirit as in former time. 



FUGITIVE PIECES 



THE DEATH OP LOVE. 



We had no quarrel ; — not a jarring word 
E'er floated down the current of our joy, 
The summer day sped as in by-gone time, 
With nought to mar its beauty, and the trees 
Poured their rich canopy of glistening leaves 
Around us as we walked, and seemed to speak 
In gentle whispers words of peace and love. 
Our words were loving, and our every tone 
Seemed swelling with a depth of tenderness, 
Each look told deep affection, yet the soul 
Grew sick and lone, but why we could not tell. 
Then day by day as still we met the same, 
A gradual coldness seemed to pour itself 
Upon the warmer feelings of the heart, 
And check affection's buddings, as late snow 
Chills the faint blushings of the apple flower, 
And blights the promise of the dawning spring. 
Then the sweet tones once filled with tenderness 
Grew commonplace, and for the hand's warm grasp 
And gentle pressure, came a formal 'clasp, 



52 



THE DEATH OF LOVE. 



As if the fingers' ends had never thrilled 

With the hot current at a loved one's touch. 

Our thoughts and dreams, which erst had ever run 

In one same channel, fringed with tender flowers 

Of fond affection, now o'erflowed the bound, 

Uprooted every floweret, and outpoured 

To wander wild in common paths of men. 

We felt the change, yet might not stay its course, 

Knew all was past, and gazed upon the wreck, 

As some lone sailor, on a sea-beat rock, 

Beholds the dull insatiate waves engulph 

All that to him had promised future hope ; 

Or as on far horizon's distant verge, 

He views some welcome sail, which larger grows 

As every breeze and billow wafts it on, 

Till, just as eager hope has soared to heaven, 

And every promise of salvation blooms, 

The ship tacks round, sails slacken, then refill, 

Hope fadeth in the vaulted void of sky, 

And sighing billows mock his feeble moan. 

No words had told the change, yet each soul knew 

Some frost had blackened the young flowers of love, 

And then the snow of cold indifference 

Fell chill upon the barren garden of the heart, 

To seal the death of love. 

Yet even now, 
Tho' years have hardened all that once was young, 
Oft tender winds of longing thaw away 



THE DEATH OF LOVE. 53 

The snowy rime, and as on Alpine heights. 

When spring's soft breezes kiss the melting snows, 

The gentle flowerets bloom on icy verge, 

Twining a wreath for the cold glacier's brow, 

So on the frozen hill-sides of the heart 

Still gentle flowers may bloom, yet only serve, 

As Alpine blossoms to the wanderer's mind 

Call recollections of his sunnier clime, 

To tell fond memory of the flowers that were 

The spirit's wreathings in the long ago. 



"^ 



THE OLD ELM. 



I love the elm, that grand old tree, 
Its waves of leafy tracery, 
It has a sacred voice for me, 

To lift the veil of by-gone years, 
Dispel the mist of shading tears, 
Of bitter doubts, and boding fears. 

And through the clouds that intervene, 

Displays a picture, fair, serene, 

In the bright moments that have been. 

I see in vision far away, 

Six merry children careless play, 

As blithesome as a summer's day. 

Four with dark eyes and raven hair, 
Seem glow of sunnier climes to wear, 
A proud bold look to do and dare. 



THE OLD ELM. 55 

Two with fair locks and azure eye, 
Look peace and calm serenity, 
A soul at rest, yet soaring high. 

Unlike in action, mien and air, 

Yet all had claimed one mother's care, 

Both raven lock and flaxen hair. 

And the old elm 'neath which they play, 
Sings to each soul a different lay, — 
Yet binds them all in harmony, — 

And bending down each leafy tress, 
Seems twining all in loveliness, — 
A gentle, loving, mute caress. 

O guardian elm, — protecting tree, 
Tell, shall each coming summer see 
Each soul in pristine purity ? 

Shall gentle flowerets ever dress 
Each silken lock and raven tress 
To gem a brow of comeliness ? 

Tell — 'twas a summer zephyr's sigh 
Fell on my ear, then wandered by, 
All faded in obscurity. 



56 THE OLD ELM. 



II. 



Clouds darkly lowered, then all was night, 
It brightened, and upon my sight 
Arose the vision fair and bright. 

The scene the same, the fond old tree 
Waved its young leaves in gayety, 
To breathe a welcome unto me. 

Yet saddened seemed the zephyr's tone, 
From the old tree a love had flown, 
The five played on, — the one ivas gone. 

And in the children's flowery wreath 

Each bud had felt a chilly breath, 

And mourned as it had gazed on death. 

And the old tree in grief profound 
Poured rainy tears upon the ground, 
Whence violets sprung up all around. 

A cenotaph of Nature's hue, 
With architrave of heavenly blue, 
In spring's young breezes ever new. 



THE OLD ELM. 5? 

Yet as I gazed I seemed to see 
A shade of dim obscurity 
Floating around the leafy tree. 

The angel spirit that had flown 
Seemed pouring a rich blessing down, 
The unseen guardian of its own. 

As the rich benison touched each flower, 
The drooping blossoms owned the power, 
And laughed in blessing of the hour. 

It circled as a chaplet blest, 
By holy angel spirit prest, 
Upon each lovely brow to rest. 

And as the clouds swept o'er the scene, 
My spirit owned a calm serene, 
A blessing from a hand unseen. 

The old elm tree's encircling care 
Wound in its arms five children fair, — 
My spirit saw another there. 



58 



THE OLD ELM. 



III. 



Years passed away: I gazed once more, 
The scene seemed sadder than before, 
The elm drooped downward as of yore. 

Four children only roved below, 
Their cheeks had lost the sunny glow, 
The wreath had faded on each brow. 

And from the old tree's leafy tongue 
A sad and solemn dirge was sung, 
A requiem for the fair and young. 

A frost across the flowers had passed, 

A sullen cloud a shadow cast, 

Whence tears of rain fell thick and fast. 

Yet as I gazed I seemed to see 
Two shades of dim obscurity 
Floating around the leafy tree; 



And on the sombre gloom impinging, 
A golden beam the cloud seemed tinging, 
Its dark expanse with glory fringing. 



And floating silent in mid air, 

Two angel spirits wondrous fair, 

Raised from each brow the shade of care. 



THE OLD ELM. 59 

And the dark tears which dimmed their eyes 
Were borne as jewels angels prize, 
To form the coronets of the skies. 

Once more the wreaths renewed their bloom, 
Shedding o'er all a blest perfume, 
Glowing the fairer from the gloom. 

And the old tree seemed shining bright 
With diamonds of heavenly light, 
As its boughs tossed in airy flight. 

The gentle flowers the influence feel, 
And on the cushioned mosses kneel 
In thankfulness for heavenly weal. 

The clouds swept by, the scene was gone, 
But to my spirit breathed a tone — 
" The loved are never left alone." 



IV. 



Years passed away, — I gazed once more, 
The scene was sadder than of yore, 
The elm drooped downward as before. 



60 THE OLD ELM. 

The children, grown to riper years, 
Had felt the weight of human fears, 
And drained the bitter cup of tears. 

In the flower garland on the brow 

Full many a briar had twined its bough, 

And thorns had pierced the forehead now. 

Each face was changed : the world's dull care 
Had left its wrinkled traces there, 
Yet haloed by the light of prayer. 

For what by mother's lips was taught 
In early youth was ne'er forgot ; 
God's love had cheered each bitter lot. 

Bright in the heaven a promise bow 
Shed on each soul a varied glow, 
To cheer the spirit drooping low. 

At either side that bow to rear, 
The hope to loved ones toiling here, 
The two blest angel forms appear. 



THE OLD ELM. 61 



Soon one by one shall flit away 

To join the angel minstrelsy, 

Till all are fled, the bow shall stay. 

And as the children's missions cease 
The shadows of the loved increase, 
Till all are found in perfect peace. 



Till all shall pass from here to there, 
Each brow a heavenly wreathing wear, 
Till praise shall swell the note of prayer. 

The bow shall fade, — the loved are fled, 

A holy band of blessed dead, 

They meet where love's full light is shed. 

And leave to thee, thou fond elm tree, 

But whisperings of memory 

To breathe in silent hours to me. 

Oct. 1857. 




62 



THE DIAMOND. 



In a darkened dusty alley 

Leading from the busy street, 
Where the sunbeam never shineth 
And geraniums in the window 

Stretch and blanch its ray to meet. 

At a window dim and blackened 

Hung with cobweb tracery, 
I had seen one working, toiling, 
Worn and weary from the working, 
Toiling sorely day by day. 

Yet around him and before him 
Priceless store of jewels lay, 
The lean fingers dipped in treasure, 
The worn face bent o'er a diamond 
Sparkling with its costly ray. 

Worn the look and bent the figure, 
Yet upon the pallid brow 



THE DIAMOND. 03 

Beamed a holy light proclaiming 
Noble thoughts and high aspiring, 
By some heavy weight pressed low. 

Once again the diamond's flashing, 

Dazzling glanced upon my eye, 
Where the dancers' feet were flying, 
Where the laugh and jest were ringing, 
In the ball room's revelry. 

And my musing thoughts rose upward, 

Shall there be no brighter day 
For the soul crushed down and trodden 
By the iron feet of labor 

In the alley far away '? 

Shall upon the dark horizon 

No fair star of promise rise, 
Must the heart's pure blossoms wither, 
Fade for lack of sunny shining, 

The pure influence of the skies ! 

O awake, ye men of action, 
Stewards, look ye to your care, 

Lest, though earth may smile upon ye, 

In the realm of heavenly glory 
The poor soul excel you there ! 



64 



AUTUMN. 



Welcome thy coming, O glorious light, 
Catching the tresses of lingering night, 
Long hast thou tarried while minutes fled by, 
Yet peeping from star eyes all over the sky. 
Hail for the asters are waiting thy power, 
And the autumn born crocus just ready to flower, 
Sleeps while the breezes 'mid blossoms entwine, 
To open its bud to no fingers but thine. 
O'er the gay earth shed thy influence abroad, 
Wakening a hymn to the glory of God, 
While autumn rejoicing a coronet weaves 
Of the ripening grain and the painted leaves, 
And shakes from the flowers of her tuberose wand 
An incense of perfume all over the land, 
Welcome, O gentle light. 

Over the meadow and over the hill, 

Up the bare mountain, by murmuring rill, 

Where the wild ivy its gay tresses flings, 

And the indian pipe in the barren wood springs. 



AUTUMN. 65 

O'er the low meadows where blackberries twine. 

Bathing the finger like leaves of the pine, 

Lending the gentian a lovelier blue, 

Parent of rain drops, and father of dew, 

Clad in light garments, and waving around 

A vapory wand in night's silence profound, 

Illusive, deceiving, a silvery sheen, 

When the moon on the brow of night's goddess 

serene 
Sheds a radiance fair, so the earth seems to gaze 
From an ocean of lustrous silvery haze, 
Stealeth the autumn mist. 

Creeping so silently over the land, 
Shaking a powdery dust from his hand, 
Wrapping the glow of the heliotrope's light 
In silvery shrouding of spangling white, 
Whispering cold to the murmuring rill, 
To the river reflecting the moonbeams so still, 
Tinging the forests with colorings rare, 
Dropping the nuts from the chestnuts bare, 
Painting each leaf in a gorgeous dress, 
Hiding its death in its loveliness, 
Telling verbena the summer is flown, 
While o'er the sad balsams a shadow is thrown, 
Murmuring of icicles, winter and snow, 
Twining the withering leaves for his brow, 
Breatheth the chilly frost. 



66 



SELF-ABASEMENT. 



In early youth's ecstatic day 

My spirit rose so high, 
I thought to build a name to live 

To all futurity ; 
Yet in the silence of the night 

The pitying stars gazed down, 
And smiled upon the feeble aims 

Men worship as renown. 

I wandered in the whispering wood, 

And breathed my high desires 
To pines which had for ages stood 

Like solemn minster spires. 
And their long fingers raised on high, 

As if in mockery, 
Told they had seen whole races die 

Long ere they gazed on me. 



SELF-ABASEMENT. 67 

By ocean's shore I breathed my wish, 

Whose waves tossed far on high, 
Their crests of seething, snowy foam, 

As if to scale the sky. 
The sky sloped downward calm and still, 

To meet the angry sea, 
And something to my spirit spoke, 

" A type, vain man, of thee." 

I strove for fame, but Nature vast 

Oppressed my rising soul, 
I owned my insignificance, 

To bow to her control ; 
And now my spirit owns the truth 

In deep humility, — 
I feel the violet that I crush 

Is greater far than I. 

I kneel amid the praying flowers, 

I worship with the trees, 
And turn to God, as young leaves turn 

To catch the evening breeze ; 
Can feel an influence in the sky 

The worldly ne'er may know, 
A beauty others ne'er descry, 

A beam of sunny glow. 



68 



SELF-ABASEMENT. 



My spirit clings to Nature as 

The ivy to the stone, 
By myriad secret tendrils which 

The eye may not discern ; 
Has learnt to know whatever path 

The wandering feet have trod, 
Is fringed with flowers that gaze above, 

To drink the smile of God. 

Oct. 1857. 




69 



THE FIRST SNOW. 



Autumn had bound with gold the sheaves, 
And tinged with russet hue the leaves, 
Then cold November's winds had torn 
The forest's liveried dress in scorn, 
And long dark rains, cheerless and drear, 
Had sadly wept the dying year. 

The cold lone wind its requiem sung, 

Sighing the pine's dark boughs among; 

The meadow in its sombre dress 

Forgot its summer loveliness ; 

And Nature mourned, bereaved and wild, 

Where leaves had waved and blossoms smiled. 

The heavy clouds all day had frowned 

Upon the sullen frozen ground 

Till just as evening called the day 

The sun broke forth with flickering ray, 

Then sunk, and canopied in light, 

Left earth enwrapped in clouds and night. 



70 THE FIRST SNOW. 

As the long evening crept away, 

We vvhiled the hours in jests and play, 

Nor heard against the window pane 

The gentle sister of the rain ; 

Nor saw the snow, the wind's new guest, 

Lay its soft cheek on earth's hard breast. 

Yet in the morn a fairy scene 
Arose where all so drear had been ; 
We wondered how the sable night 
Could bear a babe so pure and white ; 
And the bright heaven in sunlight smiled, 
In blessing on the new-born child. 

Then to my soul some sprite of air 
Breathed silently this legend fair; 
How a soul mourned that sorrow's power 
Had withered every cherished flower, 
Blasted the spirit's bowers of bliss, 
Blackened the heart's fair comeliness. 

How every gentle hope seemed dead, 
Each glowing joy forever fled, 
While to the eye the future years 
Seemed shrouded in a mist of tears ; 
Beneath the feet were blossoms dead, 
Dark inky clouds hung black o'erhead. 



THE FIRST SNOW. 71 

Then burst upon the spirit's sight 

A little flickering ray of light; 

A beam of hope that joy might be 

The guerdon of futurity, — 

Then shadows darkly closed around, 

Making the gloaming more profound. 

'Twas but a little hour of night, 
Ere all was bathed in rising light, 
From the dark sorrows of the earth 
A heavenly child had sprung to birth, 
A new-born peace on sorrow's breast 
Lulled fear to calm, and doubt to rest. 

And thus I mused ; — each bitter ill 
Some holy child engenders still, 
And from the deepest of our woes 
The holiest of our blessings flows, 
Though sad the eve and dark the night, 
A benison comes with morning light. 



«*W«3«HI* 



72 



THE ANGELS. 



I saw two angels take their flight, 
And both were dark and both were light, 
I gazed intently as to see 
The solving of the mystery. 

Each bore a vial in his hand, 
And each a magic starry wand ; 
Waved each alternate to and fro, 
To sow the germs of joy or woe. 

I gazed, but still the mystery grew 
As changing as the sunset's hue, 
As each soared silent o'er the earth, 
To bury joy, — to hope give birth. 

I saw the sons of men grow pale, 
As death was poured upon the gale ; 
Some smiling died with outstretched hand, 
I knew they saw the starry wand. 



THE ANGELS. 73 

Again, the magic starry wand 
Gave sorrow none could understand, 
Why should prosperity to some x 
Shadow the heart in deepest gloom. 

To others when the vial of woe 
Blasted their fondest hopes below, 
A holy peace seemed brooding round, 
As they the starry wand had found. 

To some each wish's full success 
Brought pain instead of happiness ; 
To others grief, but showed a soul 
Superior to its control. 

" Wherefore this miracle," cried I, 
This seeming inconsistency? 
An answer came from voiceless air, 
" God's mercies double aspects wear, 

To those who think and see aright, 
The darkest hour gleams fair with light; 
To spirits gazing up to heaven, 
A bright reflected glow is given. 

While the weak nature bound to earth, 
Grows sad and anguished in its mirth, 

5 . ' • 



74 THE ANGELS. 

And from the tide of full success 
Drains deep the cup of bitterness. 

The flying angels only seem 
To cast a shade or starry gleam ; 
The wand and vial are the same, 
And differ only in the name. 

The trusting eye will look above, 
And read from all God's changeless love, 
While sceptic vision ne'er may see 
Aught but a cloud's obscurity/' 




75 



THE GRANDDAME. 



By the door is sitting a granddame knitting, 
The shadows flitting across her brow, 

But her face it is pale and her locks in the gale 
Blow wildly around like an April snow. 

And list, she cried, to a youthful bride, 
Who in modest pride was standing near, 

To a story as told by a granddame old, 

A waif from the shipwrecks of many a year. 

It was years ago that upon my brow, 

(I can feel them now, tho' they long are dead,) 

They placed the white flowers of the marriage hours 
In the wedding garland around my head. 

And the hopes of youth, and the dreams of truth, 
Knew not of the ruth of the coming years, 

And the eye was bright, and the heart was light, 
Nor thought of sorrow nor dreamed of tears. 



76 THE GRANDDAME. 

As the blossoms play through the live-long day, 
In the sunny ray was my spirit glad; 

And my heart tones sung, as the blue bells rung, 
A song unthinking aught could be sad. 

And the hours sped on, merging eve in morn, 
Until years were gone, yet our love w r as bright, 

Then a storm of pain nursed affliction's rain, 
And the sun grew dark in a murky night. 

Hast thou seen the blight of a frosty night 
Enshroud the light of the gentle flowers ? 

So a shadowing gloom from an open tomb 
Had blackened the blossoms of early hours. 

A violent grief may be transient and brief, 
Oft may find relief from the balm of time; 

But when sorrow's frost o'er the heart has passed, 
O what smile may soften the icy rime ? 

Though years have sped, and the minutes fled, 
Which sorrowing shed on my early hours, 

Still my heart has cherished the blooms that perish- 
ed, 
The faded blossoms, — the withered flowers. 

But a flower has sprung the old graves among, 
Where my joy I hung — a withered bloom — 



THE GKANDDAME. 77 

Like a sacred thing its petals fling 

O'er the evening of life a sweet perfume. 

And its odor I feel o'er the senses steal, 
Till my dreams reveal me a vision fair, 

Of a glorious scene where the love that has been 
Is waiting with roses to crown me there. 

My eyes that were bright, and my fingers once 
white, 
Have lost their soft light and their whiteness 
you see ; 
But my spirit still young, tells the moment will 
come, 
When the vista of heaven shall open to me. 

O beware, she cried, to the youthful bride, 
Lest earth may hide from thy loving eyes, 

The living glow which is cast below, 
As a token of mercy from the skies. 

For the laugh will fail, and the cheek grow pale, 
And care will assail as the years creep on, 

Let the spirit's flowers bloom for future hours, 
And the heart may smile e'en if youth be gone. 



78 



CLOUD TRACINGS. 



On a towering rock I'm sitting, 
And the billows at my feet, 

The waves of the broad Atlantic 
In one unbroken sheet, 

Are stretching far before me, 
With nought to let or meet. 

Far in the broad horizon 
Unnumbered cloudlets rise, 

And creep with stealthy footfall 
Up the staircase of the skies, 

Casting their shadows dark or faint 
On the sea that 'neath them lies. 

Some rise so light and airy 
They leave no shade behind, 

A mantle for a fairy, 

Or a sport for playful wind ; 

How oft, methinks in daily life, 
Such transient souls we find. 



CLOUD TRACINGS. 



79 



Others a broad deep shading 

Impress upon the sea, 
Like souls which print in heavy tints 

The world's deep destiny, 
Who pass, yet leave a lasting trace 

To all futurity. 

Fit is the summer cloudlet 
For garments fairies twine, 

In sunbeams it may glory 
"With colors all divine ; 

But to leave impress on the world, 
Such nobler lot be mine. 




80 



SADNESS. 



O many may sing of the joys of Spring, 

Fresh leaves and blooming flowers, 
The general mirth which o'er all the earth 

Breaks forth in her sunny hours ; 
As the flowers reply to the breezes' sigh, 

My spirit is filled with pain, 
For I muse on the flowers of other hours, 

Which never may bloom again. 



When the grasses look from some sunny nook 

And hepatica's cups of blue 
Spread sapphires rare on the hill side bare, 

To drink in the April dew ; 
When anemones nod o'er the mossy sod 

To the uvallaria's bell, 
They sing out a strain of bitterest pain, 

To my soul a funeral knell. 



SADNESS. 81 

'Twas a bright spring day when death bore away 

One dearer than aught can be, 
'Twas years ago that we laid her low, 

'Tis as yesterday to me — 
Is it wonder then that the soul can ken 

No joy in a spring tide day, 
That in earth, in air, yes everywhere 

Breathe notes of the passed away ? 




SEPTEMBER, 



'Tis the hazy moon of an autumn day, 
Ere the frost has kissed the flowers, 

And the south wind's lips to the leaflets say 

To the reddening maples far away, 

To the beeches that close 'neath my window play, 

To the sombre pines and the larches gray, 
Bright tales of the summer hours. 

The lingering smiles of the summer beam 

A glow o'er the ripening leaf, 
Like a silver mirror reflects the stream, 
And the maples o'erhanging as rubies seem. 
Like blood-red rubies in silvery gleam, 
While the forests with diamonds of dewdrops teem, 

A coronal jewelled wreath. 

And the shadows dance o'er the grassy ground 

To the cricket's noonday trill, 
But ne'er in the depth of the woods profound, 



SEPTEMBER. . 83 

By the brook where the willows weep around, 
On the sunny hillock with asters crowned, 
Where the bluebirds carolled a liquid sound, 
May we list their warblings still. 

'Twas a summer hour when they winged their flight, 

When the days were bright and fair, 
And the woods were gleaming with golden light, 
When the stars grew to earth in the still warm night, 
We did not feel they had passed from sight, 
But now when the wood in its shroud is dight, 
We seek for them everywhere. 

We seek for the music to pour a strain 

Of joy for the golden year, 
A hymn of joy o'er the garnered grain, 
O'er the liveried trees a gay refrain, 
A triumphant peal o'er the surging main, 
A sweet accord to the autumn rain, 

A dirge for the leaflets sere. 

A requiem soft o'er the flowers that died 

In the morning's early bloom, 
Long ere the golden rod waved in pride, 
Or the sunflower glowed.on the bare hill side, 
Ere the white Nymphsea like a weeping bride 
In purity rose on the river's tide, 

With a chalice of sweet perfume: 



84 SEPTEMBER. 

In vain, — they have fled with the summer flowers, 

Though to memory still they sing, 
But it is not the song from the jasmin bowers, 
The nature tone which each sense o'erpowers; 
Let others rejoice in the autumn hours, 
But to me give the balm of the April showers, 

And the genial days of Spring. 




85 



THE SHADOW 



A shadow moveth at my side 

Unseen to all around, 
Like misty, transient forms which glide 
Up the bare hills, o'er meadows wide, 
Or brood above the ocean tide, 

Forerunners of a storm ; 
At mid of night, at noon of day, 

It floateth without sound. 

I hear no footfall pattering, 

I view no form or face, 
No music tones responsive ring, 
A melody words may not sing, 
To treasure in the heart's deep spring, 

A memory evermore ; 
Yet ever gliding by my path 

A shadowy cloud I trace. 



86 THE SHADOW. 

At dead of night when darkness holds 

Worlds shaded 'neath her hand, 
"When silence in a veil enfolds, 
And subtle sleep our fancy moulds, 
So that the wondering eye beholds 

A magic world of dream, 

I feel the shade I may not see, 

Not know, or understand. 

It wakes no fear of present harm, 

Forebodes no future ill, 
My spirit sleepeth soft and calm, 
As if some sweet, Lethean balm, 
Or melody of heavenly psalm, 

Were brooding all around; 
But ne'er more may I be alone, 

What time or place I will. 

Yet oftentimes I dream asleep 

A gentle one was mine ; 
Oft on my waking moments creep 
Dull heavy pains, benumbing deep, 
The tears o'erflow, in grief I weep 

For sense of something gone; 
My fingers leave the flowers of now 

The past's dead buds to twine. 

And then perchance the spirit tells, 
In whisper soft and low, 



THE SHADOW. 87 

A golden legend which upswells 
Far in the depth of Memory's dells, 

'Neath mosses of the past, 
A legend manna for the soul, 

A tale of long ago. 

And then the spirit rises high, 

To live life o'er again, — 
Young it looks upward to the sky, 
"With hoping gilds uncertainty, 
Dreams not fair hope may die, 

Or trembling sink to earth ; 
A summer flower, it seeks the sun, 

Unthinking of the rain. 

Alas, that bitter rain of woe 

That dashed the flowers to earth! 

The call which bade our fairest go, 

The frost that laid our lily low, 

Chilled the fair bud with early snow, 
Ere the bright flower could bloom, 

And left a void within our hearts, 
A requiem in our mirth. 

She left me many a gift below, 

Remembrance to abide ; 
A golden smile in sunset glow, 
A perfume where the violets blow, 



88 



THE SHADOW. 



And where the winds roam to and fro, 

A soft iEolian lay ; 
But best of all her spirit left 

The shadow at my side. 



Sept. 12,1857. 



89 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 



The old brown house on the brow of the hill, 
With its sentinel poplars stiff and still, 
How sadly it looms in the moonlight gray, 
With the crumbling rafters falling away ; 
And the tall grass waving around the door, 
To the cricket that chirps on the parlor floor, 
While the katydid trills out a mournful lay, 
A song of the past and the passed away. 

O woodbine green on the mouldering wall, 

Ye guardian poplars stern and tall ; 

O crumbling relics of by-gone years, 

O tell me your secret of hopes and fears ; 

Breathe to the night air and wandering wind 

The legends of story by ages entwined ; — 

The mysterious story of ruin and ill, 

Of the old brown house on the brow of the hill. 

Methinks there's a voice in the poplar trees, 
And a low soft wail on the evening breeze ; 



90 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 



List, hearken ! the clock strikes the midnight hour, 
And the past rushes back with mysterious power ! 
The house — how it gleameth afloat with light ! 
O merry 's the bridal that rideth to-night, 
That turneth away from the chancel wide, 
To the old brown house on the green hill side. 

But list to the musical notes that swell 
Far over the valley and roll through the dell ! 
Ne'er again may we list such a fairy tone, 
As from phantom harpers of years long gone. 
And the old wives tell that the ears that hear 
These ghostly musicians play tuneful and clear, 
Forevermore listen to catch on the wind 
Some echo of music they ne'er may find ; 

That those mortals who look on that bridal train, 

The beauty of earth never gaze at again. 

See, see, up the dell ride the bridal pair ! 

No daughter of earth shines so wondrous fair, 

The white rose blushes and lilies die 

On a brow with whose whiteness they may not vie ; 

And her hair jasmin decked floweth down her 

neck, 
As a midnight sky which the bright stars deck. 

Her eyelashes seem like a shadow laid 
On gardenia's petal, — a delicate shade ; 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 91 

Her eyes gleam as soft as a pearl of dew, 

Where beams of bright sunshine pour through and 

through ; 
Her lips like begonia's coral shell, 
Breathe odors of kisses and oenomel ; 
Her person the form Aphrodite wore 
When she sprung from the foams on Cythera's 

shore. 

They enter the house, how the dancing entwines 
Each fairy-like figure in mazy lines ! 
And the song pours forth, and the red wine speeds, 
Still for each new moment, new joy succeeds ; 
Till the stars sink low from the night hours gone. 
And the house in the moonbeams sleeps alone ; 
While the trees long shadows wave to and fro, 
And the moonbeams in argent ripplings flow. 

Hark ! what a shriek broke the midnight air ! 

A wail of anguish, a cry of despair ; 

See, past the windows, white figures glide, 

O Father in heaven behold the bride ! — 

They have raised her up from the moonlit ground, 

And her pale lips tremble but breathe no sound ; 

While her hair streameth wild like the woodbine's 

tress, 
When the autumn frost steals its comeliness. 



92 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

Ah, never again may those lips unclose, 

To breathe the dread secret no mortal tongue 

knows ; 
The bridegroom is vanished ; alas, who may see 
To fathom the secret, the dark mystery ? 
For a mist from the grave settles sadly on all, 
And uncertainty shrouds the dark house in a pall : 
Swift the guests shrink away with foreboding of ill, 
Leaving silent and lone the brown house on the hill. 

All is silent and drear ! the long years fled away, 
And its tenants are loneliness, mould and decay ; 
The lone villager passing at nightfall the dell, 
Holds some talisman the closer, or mutters a spell ; 
The windows are broken and tapestries flap, 
As a nest for the moth, or a lurk for the bat ; 
Rank weeds fill the pathway, or flaunt o'er the 

eaves, 
Where the spider his web all in solitude weaves. 

It is only on Midsummer evening I ween, 

That the fairy-like bridal by mortal is seen ; 

Yet pale phantoms glide when the winter winds 

roar, 
"When the autumn's chill gusts pile the leaves on 

the floor. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 93 



O traveller passing at midnight the hill, 
Pluck a sprig of the rowan to guard thee from ill ; 
Raise a prayer for the erring, ne'er pausing to see, 
Where the brown house is resting in dread mystery. 



fe^^r9 



94 



THE MAN IN THE MOON. 

A LEGEND OF NORTH GERMANY. 

In rosy tinted clouds the day 
O'er western hills had sunk away, 
And rising from the eastern sea, 
The moon in full orbed purity 
Gazed down on me. 

Mellowed the grass and leaflets green, 
Till forest shone in silver sheen ; 
Spread costly jewels o'er the ground 
Each tender flower bud all around 
With diamonds bound. 

Yet ever in the moon's bright beam 
I see the mystic features gleam 
Of him, who standing ever there, 
May know no mercy, raise no prayer 
To soothe despair. 



THE MAN IJS T THE MOON. 95 

Who on that day which God has given 
For rest from toil in earth and heaven, 
Unmindful of the Sabbath bell, 
Went forth into the forest dell, 
Brushwood to fell. 

Him on the way the Saviour met ; 
" A moment, friend, dost thou forget 
The heavenly words the writings say, 
Remember thou the Sabbath day 
Due reverence pay ? " 

Answered the churl in scornful mirth, 
" Whether 'tis Sunday on the earth, 
Or Moonday in the skies we see, 
Say, of what matter can it be 
To thee or me?" 

Then all disguise the Saviour broke, 
Thus the God voice in thunder spoke : 
" Since thus in railing thou dost live, 
Foul jesting for reproof dost give, 
Thy doom receive. 

Forevermore till time shall end, 
Eternal Moonday shalt thou spend ; 
Stand, as thou art, in heaven, a sign, 
A monument of wrath divine, 
Till end of time. 



96 THE MAN IN THE MOON. 

Since Sabbaths are profaned by thee, 
Be thou to all futurity 
A warning to all such as dare 
Profane the holy hours with care, 
Heedless of prayer." 

Thus ever in the moon's bright beam 
I see the mystic features gleam 
Of him, who standing ever there, 
May know no mercy, raise no prayer 
To soothe despair. 



^?i*£a^w 



97 



SNOW. 



i. 

O'er the wood and o'er the meadow, 
Flake by flake the snow descends, 
Till the autumn's varied color 
In one mass of whiteness blends, 
As if heaven its cloudy garments 
To the naked woodland lends. 



H. 

On the soul bereaved and lonely 
Gently falls Time's soothing snow, 
Burying the withered blossoms 
In the drifts of long ago ; 
Pouring chrism o'er the spirit, 
Softened radiance on the brow. 



98 



HOPE AND FAITH 



The night is gloaming o'er the vale, 

Yet on the distant hill 
The hemlocks gazing unto heaven, 

Beam in the sunlight still. 
So in my soul when glcomy doubts 

Cast shadows deep below, 
Let some fair tree of hope upspring 

To catch the heaven's glow. 

The moon is shining, glimmering 

Through heavy cloudy rifts, 
Which block the far horizon's verge 

In leaden sombre drifts. 
So from my heart when shading woes 

Wrap hope in sombre shroud, 
May some bright ray of faith dart forth 

To pierce the gloomy cloud. 



99 



THE NIGHT. 



I sit at my window 

And gaze through the night, 
While the wild autumn leaves 

Brush the blinds in their flight, 
And the far city gleams 

With an halo of light. 

The window pane weeps with 
The cold autumn rain, 

And the wind sadly moans 
Like a spirit in pain, 

As if flowerets were gone, 
Ne'er to blossom again. 

My spirit resembles 
The cold sighing wind, 

And it weeps like the rain 
For the flowers left behind, 

And mourns o'er the garlands 
The past has entwined. ' 



100 THE NIGHT. 

But the spring tide shall come 
To waken the flowers, 

A morn to the spirit 

All the brighter for showers, 

A glowing effulgence 

Of sunbeam wreathed hours. 



101 



THE SUMMIT. 



I stand on the mountain summit, 
And the villages white outspread, 

Seem sinking to sleep in the quiet woods 
Which canopy overhead ; 

And the tall church spires shooting up on high, 

Seem calling a benison down from the sky. 

I the summit of life am treading, 

On the mountain's thick wooded side 

Sleep many thought-villages peeping through, 
Where glowing feelings hide ; 

But alas, with no spire to shoot up on high, 

To call the rich benison down from the sky. 



102 



THE HEAVENS. 



To the vaulted midnight heaven 

As I gaze with the feeble eye, 
How bright each little orb shines out 

On the blackness of the sky ! 
But, O what scenes of wonder, 

Where all was dark before, 
When the magic glass reveals the depth 

Of the heaven's hidden store. 

In the sky of life are shining 

Bright stars for the feeblest sight, 
To beam upon the poorest mind, 

And the lowliest paths to light ; 
Yet untold store of knowledge, 

To watching souls is brought, 
When the heaven of life is gazed upon 

Through the telescope of thought. 



103 



MOURNING. 



A little rosy tinted cloud 

Just at the close of day, 
Mourned that so soon its sunny life 

Must fade in night away. 

Outspake a voice — " O little cloud, 

Grieve not that thou must die, 
Thy tears shall fall but thou shalt live, 
And fruitful golden blessings give 
In earth's fertility." 

A mourner wept a loved one gone 

To wander with the dead, 
Saw not the glorious spirit flown 

To holier realms o'erhead. 

An angel spake — " Thou saddened one, 

For thee a bliss is given, 
Thy love of earth was all too fond, 
Now the freed soul may soar beyond, 

And build its hope in heaVen." 



104 



NATURE. 



My mind is like some sullen harp, 
Whose master soul is gone ; 

Whose strings hang listlessly and mute, 
Waiting some breeze of song. 

O that a wind of mighty power 

Would burst upon the air ; 
And sweeping o'er the sullen chords, 

Could wake the music there. 

My tongue could sing the notes I feel, 

Sweet melodies that thrill 
Responsive to each nature tone, 

And all my being fill. 

The deep strong feeling that the grand, 

The beautiful and free. 
In Nature kindles in my soul 

An unsung ecstasy. 



NATURE. 105 

Could paint in words the glowing scenes 

In Hope's young day so rife, 
Bid Music's magic numbers tell 

The poetry of life. 

Write the sweet song the violets sing, 

The epics of the sod, 
Frame words for thousand prayers that spring 

From blossoms up to God. 

For me, I ask no laurel wreath, 

Or claim no myrtle crown ; 
Content fair Nature's breeze to breathe, 

My chaplet, her renown. 

I crave not hoarded wealth of words, 

Or stores from ages gone ; 
Enough that Nature be my muse, 

Her myriad notes my song. 



106 



SONGS. 



The songs that I would be singing, 

Are wandering through my brain, 
And my spirit often wonders 

If it ever will sigh in vain ; 
Will sigh for some note of music, 

To lift its fair thoughts on high, 
Some chord that may breathe to the listen- 
ing world 

The depth of its ecstasy. 

Yet sometimes in midnight silence 

A vision reveals to me 
A starlight of golden pleasure, 

In the night of futurity ; 
A breath that shall wake my music, 

A spirit to tune my strain, 
Assurance to tell to the saddening soul 

Its longings are not in vain. 



107 



SHADOWS 



Nay, chide me not because a shade 

Athwart my life is thrown, 
The sullen cloud may hide the sun, 
But does the brook less gaily run, 

Because its light is gone ? 

What if my fairest flowers of life 

In memory only bloom, 
Do we prize autumn blossoms less, 
Because they lack the loveliness 

Of rose entwining June ? 

Some blossoms only bloom in shade, 

Or when bright days are flown, 
So dear to me are saddened hours 
Perfumed from fields of Memory flowers, 
Flow r ers long ago mine own. 



108 



DEAD BLOSSOMS. 



There's a shadow that sits by the fireside, 
Though its presence we ne'er may see, 

Till it summons the loveliest round the hearth 
To the realms of uncertainty. 

O shadow that sat at my fireside hearth, 
Thou hast bitterly dealt with me. 

There's a phantom-like gardener walketh 
Where our loveliest blossoms grow ; 

There's a heavy and saddening measure 
In our music's loftiest flow. 

From my garden the fairest of flowers is gone, 
And my song is a dirge of woe. 



109 



ADORATION. 



Go forth into the meadow, 

Or wander in the wood, 
Stand on worn rocks where ocean pours 

Its seething, ceaseless flood. 

Count the white waves replying; 

Learn how the flowerets grow, 
The meanest blossom reads to thee 

" Enough for man to know." 

Turn to the starry heavens 

So dimly understood, 
See countless orbs together move 

In perfect aptitude. 

'Tis not in formal ritual, 

Or aisles by custom trod, 
Where'er it turns, in great or small, 

The pure soul worships God.' 



no 



THE CONTRAST. 



The music of the seaside 

And the dashing of the spray, 
The huge waves grinding on the beach 

Dark boulders worn and gray, 
I leave to those who love them, 

But deeper joy is mine 
In the vastness of the forest 

Where the clinging grape-vines twine. 

The sighing of the breezes 

'Mid the ancient mossy trees, 
Is to me a sweeter music 

Than the murmur of the seas ; 
And the robins sweetly singing 

Through all the livelong day, 
Sound to my ear far dearer 

Than the dashing of the spray. 



THE CONTRAST. 1 1 i 

'Tis true that all is Nature 

On sea beach or in wood, 
Presenting aspects harsh or soft 

To suit each varying mood ; 
But my spirit blends with Nature 

In union more divine, 
In the vastness of the forest 

Where the clustering boughs entwine 




112 



THOUGHTS. 



The harp of my life is trembling 
With a breeze of the by-gone time, 

In its low sad notes resembling 
The peal of a distant chime ; 

O would that the spirit's voice could break 
In a passionate burst of rhyme! 

For myriad thoughts are welling 
From the spirit's enchanted spring, 

And mysterious tunes are swelling 
With a might that must take wing ; 

And perhaps in the future's untried path, 
The spirit may soar and sing. 



113 



ALONE. 



Alone in my room while the midnight hour 
Peals sullen and long from the old church tower. 

Alone in my room while the clock-beats tell 
How the minutes are speeding past hours to swell. 

Alone in my room while the moon's pale beam 
Flows close at my feet in an argent stream. 

Alone in my room while the embers' ray 
Shines brightly, then flickers in darkness away. 

Alone in my room while my fancy dreams 
How man ever basks in two quickening gleams. 

The one his own will and its changing hue, 
Like the flickering light which the embers threw. 

The other a holier radiance given, 

As the moonbeams constant; the smile of Heaven. 



114 



A WINTER SCENE. 



The snow had fallen all the night, 

And earth at morning lay 
Dressed in a bridal robe of white, 

To greet the coming day. 

The oaks their long gray fingers shook 
Above the holly green, < 

Whose leaves and berries shining look 
As gems in silver sheen. 

Far, o'er the river's frozen breast 
The north wind bloweth keen ; 

Near, flocks of piping snow birds rest 
,Amid the evergreen. 

All silence, save from yonder farm 
Some heifer's plaintive low, 

Nought to disturb the solemn calm, 
To stain the trackless snow. 



A WINTER SCENE. 115 

Bright are the days of summer's pride, 

And fairly bloom her flowers, 
But purer seems the winter tide, 

Brighter its sunny hours. 



116 



HOPES. 



Sadly moaneth the winter's breeze 

Through the drooping arms of the old elm trees. 

Sadly respondeth the heart's sad lays, 
Attuned to the music of by-gone days. 

Dashing, weeping, the winter's rain 
Falls off in tears from the window pane. 

And my eyes are dim with the drops of woe, 
As the heart's sad surges ebb and flow. 

Rustling the vines o'er the trellis blow, 
Waving their tresses to and fro. 

In the heart's fair garden a tender vine 
O'er a trellis of hopes had begun to twine. 

And the eye was bright, and the heart was glad, 
As the desolate walls were with verdure clad. 



HOPES. 117 

And the fragrant blossoms a perfume threw, 

As the leaves spread broad and the branches grew. 

At night it was fair, but at morn lay dead, 
For the frost of death had breathed overhead. 

The hopes were bare, for the love had flown, 
And the breeze may rustle dead leaves alone. 

And the eyes are dim with the drops of woe, 
As the heart's sad surges ebb and flow. 



\ -,| 






118 



GOD DREW THE WORLD. 



God drew the world with artist hand, 

Replete with light and beauty, 
Arid man the lines might understand, 

Did he but do his duty ! 
God drew in lines of living light, 

From morn to evening fading, 
But left to man to fill aright 

Each scene with proper shading. 

Alas, how few the scenes we see, 

As Heaven's own mind has kenned them ! 
How oft our fancy roaming free, 

Some false perspective lends them ! 
Thick mists and darkening clouds arise 

And blur the landscape over, 
The heavenly lines escape our eyes, 

"Which seldom we recover. 

And so from year to year we trace, 
With strange infatuation, 



GOD DREW THE WORLD. 119 

Lines whose dark shadings but deface 

God's beautiful creation ; 
We view the picture in the ray 

Of pride and self-laudation, 
While angels weep in heaven's own day 

At the disfiguration. 

God drew the world with artist hand 

Replete with light and beauty, 
And man the lines could understand, 

Did he but do his duty ! 
If to the sky and less to earth 

His artist hours were given, 
True light and shade of angel worth 

Might tint the scene from heaven. 




120 



HOW GROW THE LEAVES? 



How grow the leaves in the summer's night, 
'Neath the twinkling beams of the pale star light ? 
When the cricket's chirp in the springing grass, 
And the flowers bend down as the breezes pass, 
When the firefly wings with her golden lamp, 
And the frogs sing shrill in the meadows damp ? 
How grow the leaves ? 

How dash the waves on the rocky shore, 
With an ever monotonous, ceaseless roar ? 
Sapping the rock with continuous swell, 
Yet wafting the boat of some delicate shell, 
Foaming and mighty and changing and grand, 
How dash the waves, can ye understand ? 
How dash the waves ? 

How move the winds thro' the trees' tall plumes ? 
How shed the blossoms their sweet perfumes ? 
How gleam the grain fields with golden light ? 
How glows the fruit with its colors bright? 



HOW GROW THE LEAVES? 121 

How comes the night with its starry train ? 
Who sheddeth the dew and distilleth the rain ? 
Whence do they spring ? 

From the guardian hand of a mighty power, 
Who ruleth the ocean, and tinteth the flower, 
Who nurseth the bud and the tree's young frond, 
Who coloreth the fruit and the grain's green wand, 
Omniscient, the smallest are ne'er forgot, 
And though all may change, yet He changeth not, 
Forever the same. 




122 



HEB. IV. 10. 



She has entered to her rest, 

All her sorrows past, 
Perfect peace its crown hath prest 

On her brow at last. 

Long and wearily she toiled, 
Draining sorrow's bowl ; 

Grief each high desire had moiled, 
Pain oppressed the soul. 

Yet her eye gleamed ever bright 

From some hid desire, 
As a crystal star at night 

Shines from unseen fire. 

Toil and sorrow now are o'er, 

Weariness at peace ; 
Trouble billows vex no more, 

Sin's wild dashings cease. 



HEB. IV. 10. 



123 



Long and wearily the way 
To her home she trod, 

Now it fades in perfect day 
In the rest of God. 



124 



ABIDE WITH US. 



Abide with us, the shadows of the evening 

Slant from the golden chambers of the west, 
The pale sad night its convent cloister leaving, 

Calls dewdrops forth to gem the rose's breast. 
The darkness thickens o'er the dim horizon, 

Blest Saviour let thy blessed light abide, 
Thy presence near, no fear of ill arising, 

Secure w r e wait the dawn of morning tide. 

Abide with us, the spirit of the sun god 

Pours floods of light upon a waking world, 
From heaven's field the armies of the evening 

Retreat in sullen ranks with banners furled ; 
Around my path the snares of sin are lying, 

Thy warning voice may bid the soul beware, 
Alone, the fainting soul sinks weak and dying, 

Let thy bright sunshine gild the clouds of prayer. 

Abide with us, the noonday sun is blazing 
To coronet with gold the floweret's cup, 



ABIDE WITH US. 125 

The heliotrope to greet its ray is gazing, 
The golden purslane to its God looks up; 

Yet in the glory shading ills around me, 

Cast deadening ashes on the heart's pure fires, 

Let thy blest influence, dearest Lord, surround me, 
The flame mounts heavenward with renewed 
desires. 

Abide with me, cold shadows o'er me creeping 

Benumb the senses, deaden every power, 
A finger points to where the dead are sleeping, 

Jesus, my Saviour, aid me in this hour ; 
Abide with me, till death's dark night unclosing 

The radiant morning of eternity, 
My spirit on thy loving breast reposing, 

Exulting rises to abide with thee. 



<^R^9 



126 



THE HOUSE ACROSS THE WAY. 



Sitting nightly at my window, 

I had watched a feeble ray, 
Darting through the half closed casement 

Of the house across the way. 

Little knew I of the inmates, 

What their station nought could say, 

We lived with a world between us, 
Yet 'twas only 'cross the way. 

There they said on bed of anguish 

A fair child of promise lay, 
Told that suffering made her dwelling 

In the house across the way. 

Then by kindly feelings prompted, 
There I sent a choice bouquet, 

And a blessed smile seemed wafted 
From the house across the way. 



THE HOUSE ACROSS THE WAY. 127 

Night by night that feeble shining, 
Streaming forth with steady ray, 

Told of hours of care and watching 
In the house across the way. 

Told at last when night had curtained 

In her dusky folds the day, 
All was darkness, all was silence, 

In the house across the way. 

No one told an angel spirit 

Had cast off its bonds of clay, 
Few that knew death waved his sceptre 

O'er the house across the way. 

Few the mourning friends there gathered, 

Small and poor the sad array, 
As it crept towards the churchyard 

From the house across the way. 

Yet methinks a strain of glory 

From the heavens far away, 
Told an angel had been tarrying 

In the house across the way. 

Pause, proud spirit, and consider ! 

When the powers of life decay, 
Will thy station raise thee higher 

Than the child across the way? 



128 



THE SEA. 



Wherefore thy ceaseless mourning, 

Thou dashing, restless sea ? 
Hast thou some hidden yearning, 

Some secret mystery, 
Or has some bitter wrong been done, 

That thou waii'st incessantly ? 

Or is thy mournful sounding 

The wail of dying men, 
From inner depths resounding 

Far, far below our ken ? 
Of brave and well tried hearts that died 

On thy tossing billows, when 

The briny spray was freezing, 

As hailstones in the air ; 
The winter's storm increasing, 

Left nought to man but prayer — 



THE SEA. 129 

A prayer to God for timely aid 
In the hour of dark despair. 

Long have the children waited, 

Fond hearts been wrung with pain, 

For the loved ones long belated, 
Who ne'er may come again, — 

Go, ask the billows how they died, 
For hoping is all in vain. 

O moaning well befitteth, 

Thou dashing, wailing sea ! 
How oft thy groan re-echoeth 

From hearts in agony ; 
From hearts that daily watch and break 

In seeking hope from thee. 



^^|®^^N° 



130 



WHEN SKIES ARE BRIGHT. 



When skies are bright and hearts are light, 

From every joy inviting, 
When every aim success may claim, 

Each ardent wish delighting, — 
'Tis not the hours of sunny flowers 

Affection holds most dearly, 
Or turned on high the spirit's eye 

In loving beams most clearly. 

But 'tis when showers have dashed the flowers, 

Hope fluttering, almost flying, 
Lifts far from sight each fond delight^ 

And leaves the spirit dying ; 
Then shining bright upon the night 

The star of love is beaming, 
As emerald placed amid the waste 

Some green oasis gleaming. 



WHEN SKIES ARE BRIGHT. 131 

111 winter's hour some little flower, 

In summer crushed and broken, 
Is nursed with care, of warmer air 

And brighter days a token ; 
Thus when the rain of grief and pain 

O'erfloods the soul with sorrow, 
The star of love shines forth above 

As promise for the morrow. 




132 



WARNINGS, 



Maiden, in the flowery spring, 

Listening while the bluebirds sing, 

As the sweet hours onward wing, 
Guard thy heart, O watchfully. 

Maiden, in the summer hours, 

When the dewdrops bathe the flowers 
Of the honeysuckle bowers, 

Guard thy heart, O tenderly. 

Maiden, when the autumn's breath 
Chills the merry leaves in death, 

Rustling sad thy steps beneath, 
Guard thy heart, O warily. 

Maiden, when the winter's time 
Silvers earth with frosty rime, 

When the night winds sadly chime, 
Guard thy heart, O carefully. 



WARNINGS. 



133 



Watch, — if love bear off thy heart, 
Though it hours of bliss impart, 

Thence the springs of anguish start, 
Guard thy heart, O fearfully. 



»j 






isgd^ 



134 



VERONICA. 



Bright blossom, farewell of the Spring, 
First flower in June's young offering, 
Where all are fair I turn to thee, 
Meek emblem of the Deity. 

Rightly thy meaning name was given, 
Thou constant gazer to the heaven, 
" True image " of Almighty power, 
Yet but a simple azure flower. 

When sullen clouds have veiled from sight 
The blue expanse, or shady night 
Creeps o'er the landscape, still thy hue 
Is one unchanging fadeless blue. 

Would that as thou reflects the sky, 
My soul could mirror from on high, 
And some warm ray of glory shed, 
E'en if the sky be dark o'erhead. 



135 



THE PRESENT. 



The sun rolls westward in its course, 

And night succeeds its shining, 
The stream pours gushing from its source, 

In mazy whirlpools twining ; 
The song is trembling on the lips, 

Then flies we know not whither, 
The bee the clover's treasure sips, 

Yet ne'er again comes hither. 

The leaves are waving on the trees, 

In love dance swinging gladly, 
Kissed by the sunshine and the breeze, 

How soon to rustle sadly ! 
When Summer calls her festive train, 

And Autumn yields her treasure, 
How sad 'mid fields of golden grain 

Echoes the zephyr's measure I 



136 THE PRESENT. 

In memory of the soft June days, 

The sunny summer reaches, 
The brooks upon their pebbly ways 

Winding among the beeches ; 
Thus day by day, as hours flit on, 

Forever forward ranging, 
We sever from the moments gone, 

Inconstant save in changing. 

The pleasures of the present hour 

Are ever onward flying, 
To-day may smile on many a flower, 

To-morrow faded, — dying ; 
Then rouse, O soul, nor waste thy powers, 

In idle, dull repining, 
To-day may blossom many flowers, 

For Heaven thy wreath be twining! 




137 



NOONTIDE. 



On the sultry noon of a summer's day, 

I lie 'neath the linden tree, 
While the scented breath of the new mown hay 

Sheds an incense over me, 
And the odors that drop from the linden's bloom 
Envelope each sense in a sweet perfume. 

And the bees hum loud in each flowery cup, 

As they dive for the honied store, 
Till their murmuring melody conjures up 

Bright dreams of the days of yore, 
When in boyhood I played 'neath the linden tree, 
All my hopes and my aims in futurity. 

How I curious watched with an eager eye 

The shadows climb up the tree, 
Till they left my sight floating far too high, 

Or dissolved in uncertainty ; 
Since that day I have seen fondest hopes float by, 
Andjiow many grow black in obscurity! 
9 



138 NOONTIDE. 

As a boy I would wreathe all my head with flowers, 

In manhood I twine them now, 
But the perfume they breathed in my early hours, 

They lose as I pluck them now ; 
For the breezes of memory ne'er may fling 
O'er the summer of life the sweets of spring. 

Thus I lie 'neath the shade of a linden tree, 

On the noon of a summer's day, 
And the perfume of flowers calleth back to me 

Sweet dreams that had glided away; 
Till. I dream that the man is a child once more, 
Plucking fancy's flowers in the fields of yore. 




139 



OCTOBER. 



The sleepy haze of the autumn days 

Is basking upon the hill, 
And the willows weep where the breezes sweep 

Adown by the meadow rill ; 
Weep tears of gold in the crystal brook, 

And wave their fingers bare, 
For the frost has thrown them a chilly look, 

And left a memory there. 

The vines' long hair on the trellis bare 

Sways mournfully in the wind, 
One calm clear night, when the moon was bright, 

Some spirit of cold, unkind, 
With icy fingers had plucked the leaves, 

And left them dry and sere, 
And the naked vine for its garment grieves 

In the cold of the waning year. 

And the chickadees in the liveried trees 
Sing cheerily in the morn, 



140 OCTOBER. 

Or from sombre pines as the day declines 

Chirp out to the yellow corn ; 
And blithesome crickets at noonday trill 

A merry and cheering strain, 
Each season its measure of good shall fill, 

And the sun shines after the rain. 

O not unkind is the autumn wind, 

To whirl off the painted leaf, 
Its duty is done, its course is run, 

And the wind gathers in the sheaf; 
'Tis a merry reaper, that autumn wind, 

And he worketh night and day, 
Plucks off the leaves from the bending trees, 

And garners them all away. 

A mantle he weaves of the fallen leaves 

To spread on earth's bosom bare, 
How his shuttles fly, now low now high, 

For he worketh the robe with care ; 
Bright golden tintings he weaveth there, 

With purpie and gray and white, 
While the frost sprites border with ermine rare, 

In the cold of the autumn night. 

O not unkind is the autumn wind 

To gather the harvest home ; 
Well may it be for me and thee 

When our days of autumn come, 



OCTOBER. 



141 



When the frosts of death o'er the spirit steal, 
.And the summer days are f\^wn, 

If the parting „oul at the last may feel 
Its duty has well been done. 



142 



MY HOMES. 



I have a home where the violet springs, 
The blue jay chatters, the bluebird sings, 
Where the oriole's nest in the olcl elm tree, 
Swings the downy brood in the wind's wild glee, 
Where the bees hum loud and the roses twine 
'Mid the clustering grapes of the sweet breathed 

vine, 
W ne/e the skies are bright and the flowers are fair, 
But the home of my soul is not there, not there. 

I have a home 'mid the city's hum, 
Where the voice of Nature is hushed and dumb, 
Where wealth and luxury, art and ease, 
Have vied with their various powers to please, 
Where libraries teem with their classic store, 
And song and music their tribute pour, 
Where all things cheer me and soothe my care, 
But the home of my soul is not there, not there. 



MY HOMES. 143 

I have a home in the realms of air, 
'Tis peopled with beings surpassing fair, 
With hopes of pleasure I ne'er may know, 
The aims and the joys of the long ago ; 
Desires and visions of early youth, 
Hopes dead ere fruition, bright dreams of truth, 
To dwell in these portals I ne'er may dare, 
For the home of my soul is not there, not there. 

I have a home in a kindred heart, 

Where the flowers of tenderness ever start, 

The gentlest smiles for my coming stay, 

And ever I'm welcome by night or day; 

Bright hours of peace, which are too much bliss 

For a life so aimless and poor as this, 

Are mine, but the spirit still roves elsewhere, 

For the home of my soul is not there, not there. 

I have a home in the hillside lone, 
'Tis marked by a shaft of a dark brown stone, 
There the birds sing gay in the bending trees, 
The long grass waves in the evening breeze, 
Bright flowers spring gay through the opening 

years, 
And the bluebells chime through a dew of tears, 
My pathway leads to that churchyard fair, 
For the home of the mortal is there, is there. 



144 MY HOMES. 

I have a home, but 'tis far away, 
Yet nearer it seems with each passing day, 
My eye hath not seen it, its dazzling light, 
My ear hath not heard of its glories bright, 
Nor my heart imagined, but still I know 
Its glory surpasses the noontide glow ; 
To dream of its glories I scarce may dare, 
But I know that the home of the soul is there. 




145 



THE HOME OF THY REST. 



The home of thy rest, O how oft have I gazed 

Far up to the dome of the sky, 
To catch some fair sight of the realm of the blest, 

Some trace of thy home to descry, 
If perchance some bright blossom of heavenly gold 

Might hang o'er the battlements fair, 
Or some glory outstream as the portals unfold 

To receive some new habitant there. 

How oft when the curtain of night falls around 

Do I gaze, if perchance I may see, 
'Mid the myriad stars in the silence profound. 

Some trace or some token of thee, 
And list for some whisper to tell to the soul 

The love and affection it knew, 
Ere thy spirit burst forth from the body's control, 

And breathed to my spirit " adieu." 



146 THE HOME OF THY REST. 

And often I think when the shades of the eve 

Are flecking the light of the day, 
That the eye in the set of the sun may conceive 

Some thought of thy home far away ; 
In the gorgeous tintings of purple and gold, 

The dazzling rays of the light, 
My fond longing spirit but strives to behold 

Some view of thy mansion so bright. 

O how often I dream of those regions afar, 

Yet wake and the vision is flown, 
And the poor sighing soul may but catch an idea 

Of the glory, and make it its own ; 
A thought of the dazzling brightness that streams 

In a flood of omnipotent day, 
A thought of the glory eternal that gleams 

Where no nightfall may shadow its ray. 



147 



TO THE WITCH HAZEL 



Weird farewell of the dying year 

To leafless copse and wood, 
Lone blossom of November sere 

To cheer its solitude. 

The birds are flown, the flowers are dead, 
The woodland mourns alone, 

Save listing to the partridge tread, 
Or to the jay's shrill tone. 

Yet as a fringe on Autumn's dress 

Thy yellow tresses wave, 
As Memory's dreams relieve distress, 

As flowerets deck a grave. 

As to the wanderer's eye some star 
May twinkle through the gloom, 
Or trembling glimmer seen afar, 
_ Foretell his welcome home. 



148 TO THE WITCH HAZEL. 

Thus to my soul thy waving tress 
May more of comfort tell, 

Than if the chaliced loveliness 
Of summer o'er thee fell. 

I would, pale mystic, magic flower, 
Like thee my life may be 

A welcome in a lonely hour, 
A smile to misery. 

To shed a gleam of cheerful light 
Where griefs pale garlands twine, 

To prove a star in sorrow's night, — 
Such, gentle flower, be mine. 




149 



THE DEPARTED, 



They are gone away, they are gone away, 

Yet their spirits still whisper to me, 
And oft in the clouds of expiring day 

Their angel white robes I see ; 
And the evening breeze as it thrills my ear, 

Or wanders across my brow, 
Has something which tells me the loved are near, 

But I cannot see them now. 

There was one who fled in the morning hour, 

Ere a cloud had o'ercast the sky, 
As if some beautiful noonday flower, 

In the flush of morn should die ; 
So softly the perfume to heaven stole, 

We scarcely knew when it fled, 
And a shadow of sorrow fell on the soul, 

When the bright spring flower lay dead. 



150 THE DEPARTED. 

Another had known all of manly strife, 

And bravely had played his part, 
Had buffeted strongly the waves of life 

With a firm and steadfast heart ; 
Yet a voice was calling we might not know, 

To a region we could not see, 
And his spirit listed the call to go, 

And passed into memory. 

I know they are waiting for me to come, 

And oft at the close of day 
I sit and muse on the spirit home, 

In the regions far away ; 
I know they are round me and flitting near, 

They call to the far-off shore, 
And I know when the moments are numbered 
here, 

I shall join the loved once more. 




151 



I SHALL BE SATISFIED, 



I shall be satisfied, the tender blossom 

May droop in sadness through the dreary night, 
But the warm sunbeam's gentle kiss shall waken 

The sleeping buds to revel in the light ; 
So the sad spirit 'mid this mortal journey 

May faint and falter on a weary way, 
Courage, weak heart, the promised home awaiteth, 

Thou shalt be satisfied, toil on, — and pray. 

I shall be satisfied, though hopes deceive me, 

And pleasures fall to ashes in my grasp, 
Though fortune friends in hour of darkness leave 
me, 



& 



And death bears loved ones from affection 
clasp ; 
Earth's joy may flee and sadness brooding o'er me, 

May fan with shadowy wings my fevered brow,. 
Yet to the soul a glorious voice is sounding, 

" Thou shalt be satisfied, — but O not now." 



152 I SHALL BE SATISFIED. 

Death, — when the pale and trembling eyelid closes, 

Thin, hard pressed lips never to ope again, 
A weary heart in perfect peace reposes, 

And flowers immortal spring from seeds of pain ; 
Compose the limbs, they call for little caring, 

The conflict over, grief and trial cease, 
A brighter form the weary soul is wearing, 

I shall be satisfied in perfect peace. 

I shall be satisfied, when shades of evening 

Spread gorgeous tintings o'er the western sky, 
The flying moments to my soul are breathing, 

I'm nearer, nearer to the rest on high; 
Patient I wait, for soon shall dawn the morrow, 

To bid the watching one in joy be free, 
The sun of bliss drink up the rain of sorrow, 

I shall be satisfied, my God, in thee. 



153 



TO THE NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS 



Strange flower, that open'st on the silent night 
Thy pearly petals rich with sweet perfume, 

Monastic blossom, shunning the fair light 

That crowns the flowerets of the summer's noon. 

Alone, when other blossoms weep around, 
Save where the primrose lifts its dewy cup, 

And from its golden censer silver crowned 
Its incense to the heaven offers up. 

Alone, when whispering leaves have sunk to rest, 
And roses sleep upon their dewy bed, 

When dipping 'neath the river's silver breast 
The fair Nymphsea laves her graceful head. 

Then from a coiling, bristling, thorny stem 

Breaks forth thy bud of creamy softened white 

With rays of gold, as some bright diamond gem, 
To sparkle on the bosom of the night. 
10 



154 TO THE NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS. 

To me thou tellest of some gentle one 
Who lived unnoticed in the garish day, 

Unknown, yet little deeds of kindness done, 

Were oft remembered when she'd passed away. 

The perfume of her life to heaven shed, 

Outlived the bloom, nor faded when she died, 

But from the silent ashes of the dead 
Returned to bless, renewed and purified. 




155 



THE RECORDING ANGEL. 



The hands were creeping around the dial 

To tell that the year was done, 
And the leafless trees in the evening breeze, 
Gaunt and gray in the fading ray, 
As the year's last twilight was shading away, 

Had bowed to the setting sun. 

The wind that had played in summer hours, 

To deepen the rose's hue, 
Or in jasmine bowers to scatter the flowers, 
Sweet and fair in their tinting rare, 
Waving the clematis' silken hair 
As the year grew old had become acold 
Had muffled the storm-clouds in deeper fold> 

And now it had breathed adieu. 

Afar in the moonbeam an angel wept, 

The angel to whom is given 
Omniscient to scan every deed of man, 



156 THE RECORDING ANGEL. 

Word or thought, though they pass for nought, 
To the angel's pen are with meaning fraught 
To write in the book of Heaven. 

The tear drops fell on the sacred page, 

The tracings were dark and ill, 
But a few hours more and the year was o'er, 
Passed and gone to the shadow land, 
To join the dead ages, a countless band, 

And its record for aye to fill. 

The angel turning with tearful eye 

Looked back on the waning year, 
When an old man gray in the moon's pale ray, 
Bearded white in the silent night, 
Had placed in her bosom a child of light, 
Then turned and in icicle shrouding dight, 
Had died on a snowy bier. 

Ah, fairly the years young childhood sped, 

The future with good was bright, 
But each passing day as it sped away, 
Nursing the tear and the bitter fear, 
Had told its sad tale to the angel's ear, 
And dark was the scroll to write. 

But listen, the clock is striking slow — 
And as the last pealings die, 



THE RECORDING ANGEL. 157 

She closes the book with a tearful look, 
Closes and seals what time ne'er reveals 
Till the final trump through the heaven peals, 
The birth of eternity. 

Closed is the record, the year is gone, 

Its shadows and sunbeams sleep 
And its acts of fame and its deeds of blame 
Sealed for aye in the record lie, 
Till a glorious dawn shall suffuse the sky, 
Till a paean shall rise from the realms on high, 
And borne by an angel minstrelsy, 

The verge of creation sweep. 



Soft choral music arose so sweet, 

The angel paused to hear, 
And a glorious throng to a measured song, 
Pacing slow to the metre's flow, 
Were bearing a babe with an holy brow, 

And singing the glad New Year. 

The angel smiled on the laughing child, 

And opened a record fair, 
No stain or spot or defacing blot, 
All is light on the page so white, 
It is pure as heaven, as goodness bright, 

No shadow, no shade is there. 



158 THE RECORDING ANGEL. 

O tell, shall the book when days are fled 

Be bright with the rays of prayer, 
And our deeds of right by the angel brighl, 
Ne'er to die, be enrolled on high, 
Or dark be the lines in their tracery 
The angel recordeth there ? 




159 



FREEDOM'S DAWN, 



Not ever thus ! ye cannot check 

The rising soul of man, 
Go, bid the eagle mind thy beck, 

Bound ocean with a span, 
And gather in thy grasp the wind, 
The wild, the free, the unconfined, 
Then crush man's spirit to the earth, 

Ne'er more to rise again. 

Not ever thus ! from Heaven's throne 

The word has gone abroad, 
Ne'er till oppression is o'erthrown, 

Returneth it to God. 
The groans of years are in that word, 
The prayers of ages all are heard, 
And man shall rise in Freedom's power, 

Rise, ne'er to bend again. 

Not ever thus! man must be free, 
Unbowed by might and wrong, 



160 freedom's dawn. 

The glimmer of the morn we see, 

The day will break ere long, 
The darkness fades, the east is gray, 
And west and south it takes its way, 
The chains drop off and fetters fall 
Before its glowing light. 

Not ever thus ! land of the free, 

Where patriot blood was shed, 
Shall last and latest upon thee 

This sun shine overhead ? 
Shall those who bled for freedom's sake, 
Be last the captive's chain to break, 
And night still dim thy starry crown, 
When all the world is bright ? 

Not ever thus ! arouse thee, men ! 

Unchain the slave where'er he be, 
Raise the oppressed, the crushed, and then 

Columbia will indeed be free. 
Then brighter will the stars shine on, 
When slavery's darkening stain is gone, 
And north and south and east and west 

Shall echo man is free ! 



161 



FLOWERS 



Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Swaying pendant in the air, 

On the tomb, 
Whereso'er we turn the eye 
Catches their bright tracery, 
Which by some fair mystery 

Cheers the gloom. 



Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Spangling the hillside bare, 

In the grass 
Nodding silent and unseen, 
Where the withered leaves have been, 
And where mossy trunks between 

Breezes pass. 



FLOWERS. 

Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Brightening some lonely lair, 

On the stream, 
Floating on the river's tide, 
Dotted o'er the marshes wide, 
Mirrored from the brooklet's side, 

Like a dream. 



Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Dull and gay, and dark and fair, 

Drooping low, 
Twining round some ancient tree, 
Clinging close or waving free, 
Shedding sweets for me and thee 

As we go. 



Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Springing freely without care, 

Glowing bright, 
Nurtured near the lordly hall, 
Climbing o'er the roadside wall, 
Shedding o'er the sable pall 

Gleams of light. 



FLOWERS. 163 

Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Ever welcome, — who would dare 

Scorn the flowers : 
Whispering hope and soothing pain, 
Gentle ones not made in vain, 
From whose teachings we may gain 

Cheerful hours. 



Here — there — 

Everywhere — 
Offering up eternal prayer 

To the skies ; 
Thus may we a lesson learn, 
Sun or rain some good discern, 
Thus to heaven forever turn 

Prayerful eyes. 



**»*§<»»*■ 



164 



EVENING HYMN. 



I close my door upon the world, 

Father, to turn to thee, 
The bands of night with flags unfurled 
Marshal the shadows, and the stars 

Peep twinkling silently. 

Through the long day thy guardian power 

Has kept my feet from ill, 
Thy goodness scattered many a flower 
Upon my path ; extend, O Lord, 

Thy kind protection still. 

Secure I lay me down to rest, 

To wait the morrow's dawn, 
A holy hope illumes my breast, 
I'm one day nearer to my home 

Than when I rose this morn. 



165 



TO C. A. R. ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. 



T have somewhere read 

In the years long sped 
A strange and mystic story, 

How in morning gray 

On a desert way 
Journeyed a hermit hoary ; 

When all around 

On the barren ground 
Streamed rays of heavenly glory. 

He was musing lone 

How he might atone 
For sinful thoughts unshriven. 

And a silent prayer 

As an offering fair 
Had lifted the soul to heaven ; 

By an angel bright 

In shining light 
An answer thus was given-. 



166 TO C. A. H. ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. 

" The saints who sit on highest thrones 
Before the throne of God, 
Are not of those who for praise of men 

Through the vale of penance trod, 
But those whose souls in secret bowed 
To kiss the chastening rod. 

Their golden crowns with diamonds shine, 

All small, but yet their light 
Reflects the gleam of the great white throne 

So dazzling clear, so bright, 
That the highest angel veils his face 

In wonder at the sight. 

Each moment given to God below, 

And spent in deeds of love, 
Is marked in heaven, a jewel bright 

For a diamond crown above, 
Each holy thought is a gem whose worth 

Eternity shall prove." 

The brightness fled, 

The hermit sped 
More thoughtful on his way ; 

His daily life 

With good was rife, 
And he oftener knelt to pray; 



TO C. A. R. ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. 16? 

The sick he blessed, 
And the poor distressed 
Ne'er turned unheard away. 

Years fled away — 

One summer's day 
The glory again was shed; 

He raised his eyes 

To the glowing skies, 
And died; — by the monks 'tis said, 

That a crown of light 

As of diamonds bright 
Was waiting above his head. 

So live, dear boy, that each passing day 

May shine with diamonds fair ; 
Oft lift thy soul to the throne of God 

On the incense breath of prayer, 
That when death shall open the future's day, 

A crown may await thee there. 




168 



HYMN. 



The Saviour, ere his footsteps trod 
The last dark way of pain and care, 

Knelt in the garden to his God, 

And found new strength and comfort there. 

Gethsemane, thy olives knew 

His bitter agony of prayer, 
His tear-drops mingled with thy dew, 

His groans fell on the listening air. 

Seraphic legions from above, 

Throng wondering in Judea's skies, 

To view the crowning work of love, 
The great eternal sacrifice. 

" Father, thy will, not mine, be done," 
In anguished tones we hear him cry, 

The Lord of heaven, the Holy One, 
Bows to the earth, for man to die. 



HYMN. 169 

Be still, proud soul, thy Saviour knelt, 
Shall mortal then refuse to kneel ? 

For thee he died, thy sins he felt, 

O stubborn heart, wilt thou not feel ? 

Kneel in contrition to thy God, 

Pray while he gives this mortal breath, 

For he who Calvary's mountain trod, 
Must be to thee, thy life, or death. 

Thy death, if he has died in vain, 
If thou canst gaze, and ne'er adore ; 

Thy life, for thee he bore the pain, 
For thee he pleadeth evermore. 




11 



170 



NOT OF MYSELF. 



Not of myself — alas, how vain 
My noblest efforts to attain, 
My fainting spirit sinks in pain, 
Not of myself, O Lord. 

Not of myself — the hill is high, 
The flowers are dead, the wells are dry, 
No bow of promise greets the eye, 
Not of myself, O Lord. 

Not of myself — the sun's fierce ray 
Beats on the path, briers line the way, 
I weep by night, and toil by day, 
Not of myself, O Lord. 

Not of myself — Lord hear my prayer, 
Let not the trusting soul despair, 
Though erring, yet I trust thy care, 
Not of myself, O Lord. 



NOT OF MYSELF. 171 

Not of myself — I gaze above, 

E'en in affliction see thy love ; 

To me thy wonted pity prove, 

Not of myself, O Lord. 

Not of myself — aid me, O Lord, 
I claim thy promise, trust thy word, 
O leave me not — thy help afford, 
Not of myself, O Lord. 

And if at last through heavenly grace, 
My eyes may see my Saviour's face, 
I'll sing e'en in the humblest place. 
Not of myself, O Lord. 



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172 



THE PICTURE, 



Near my bed a picture hangeth of a loved one fled 
away, 

And her silent lips oft whisper to the ear of Mem- 
ory, 

When the mists brood o'er the streamlets, and the 
gaunt limbs of the trees 

Shake their myriad leaves in anger at the fickle 
western breeze. 

Then a well known voice recalleth hours and 
actions long gone by, 

Draws aside the past's dark curtain to the spirit's 
eager eye, 

Till the cup of memory brimmeth with the wine 
of youthful years, 

Yet the rosy hue is sullied by the drops of man- 
hood's tears ! 

Then the spirit quaffs the nectar to live o'er its 
youth again ; 

Oh, alas, the draught is bittered by the drops of 
present pain ! 



THE PICTURE. 17.5 

# 

Then those speechless lips seem telling to imagina- 
tion's ear, 

Of some glorious far-off region we may only dream 
of here. 

Rapt in bliss and silent wonder in a trance the 
spirit lies, 

All its nobler thoughts and feelings panting for 
those distant skies. 

'Tis a dream, — I waken, startled, gaze around me 
all alone, 

And see nothing but the picture lighted by the set- 
ting moon ; 

Yet I know those lips have told me of the moments 
long gone by, 

And of glories they have whispered, splendors of 
an unknown sky ; 

Surer the dear hope arises that in some far distant 
time 

All the glories may await me, when I reach that- 
far-off clime. 

So I close my eyes, and peaceful list again the loved 
one say, 

Of the future to the spirit — of the past to mem- 
ory. 

March, 1857. 



174 



ASLEEP IN JESUS. 



Asleep in Jesus — O the bliss 

To sink in a repose like this ! 

A rest where neither sin nor pain 

May ever vex the soul again, 

Where care and trials, doubts and fears. 

Ne'er brim the eye with burning tears. 

Asleep in Jesus — holy rest, , 

Portal to mansions of the blest, 
Sweet prelude of all sin forgiven, 
Asleep on earth, to wake in heaven ; 
Asleep in peace in Jesus here, 
To wake in joy with Jesus there. 

Asleep in Jesus — O for me 

Let this my final portion be ! 

A rest where sorrows all are o'er, 

Where doubt may vex the soul no more ; 

Asleep in Jesus — on his breast 

Where bliss is perfect — hope at rest. 



175 



SORROW. 



Hope not thou in life's long journey 

Flowers will ever gem the way, 
Hopes will ever gain fruition, 

Golden apples ne'er decay ! 
Dream not skies are sunny ever, 

Breezes soft and nature bright, 
Or that stars shine gleaming alway, 

Diamonds in the hair of night! 

Think not when the sun is beaming 

Clouds and mist will ne'er arise, 
Or that joy will gaze upon thee 

Ever with her dancing eyes ! 
Daybreak seems more bright from darkness, 

Blossoms glisten from the rain, 
And thy joy will shine the brighter 

When 'tis sanctified by pain. 

Every day shall show from heaven 
Some new birth of sun or shade! 

By each night to our new vision 
Some new glory be displayed : 



i:6 



SORROW. 



Trials, — sorrows, — so we term them, — 
Are not to us what they seem ; 

Other names the angels call them, — 
We see darkly, — in a dream. 

Every hour they walk beside us 

Veiled angels — clothed in shade, 
Onward guiding us in silende 

To the realm where night shall fade. 
What if oft our mortal senses 

Quiver at their warning hand, 
In the ray of God's effulgence 

They as shining angels stand. 

As we near the holy portals, 

As its day-beams on us shine, 
Fade the dark robes of the angels 

In unshaded light divine; 
We shall hail them — sent of heaven — 

Messengers of peace and love, — 
Our dim tear drops change to diamonds, 

In the holy light above. 




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